IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


A 


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Photographic 
.Sciences 
Corporation 


33  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Instituta  for  Historical  IVIicroraproductiona  /  Inatitut  Canadian  de  microraproductions  historiquas 


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D 
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Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
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obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


The  copy 
to  the  ger 

Scott 
York 

The  imagt 
possible  G 
of  the  ori| 
filming  cc 


Original  c 
beginning 
the  last  pi 
sion,  or  tl 
other  orig 
first  page 
sion,  and 
or  illustra 


The  last  r 
shall  com 
TINUED" 
whicheve 

IVIaps,  pli 

different 

entirely  ii 

beginninf 

right  and 

required. 

method: 


Ce  document  est  film*  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu*  ci-dessous 
10X                           14X                            18X                           22X 

2fiX 

30X 

y 

12X 

16X 

20X 

24X 

28X 

asx 

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Yoric  University 

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ginArositA  de: 

Scott  Library, 
YorIc  University 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  At6  reproduites  avec  le 
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de  la  nettet6  de  l'exemplaire  filmt,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
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sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
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premlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
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la  dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  <-^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparattra  sur  la 
dernlAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Atre 
film6s  i  difv  taux  de  reduction  difftrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichA,  11  est  filmA  A  partir 
de  Tangle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nAcesseire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  le  mAthode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

e 

SELECTED  FROM  THE  LIST  OF 


cts. ;  4to, 
20  els. 

cts.;  4to, 
20  cts. 

50  cts. 

50  cts. 

25  cts. 


50  cts. 


"  Comes  from  a  writer  ui  Juu^^^. 


y  constructed 

e  most  i/as^ 

he  has  read 

i>e  befrinning." 


arming  work, 
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?««.«„.  puc.  .moo,  ^o'isSo[t^iiirAS^iL°L^'^ircii:s!'i^i^ "  • 


THE  KNICKERBOCKER  NOVELS. 


The  Heart  of  it.    A  Romance  of  East  and  West.     By  William  O. 

Stoddard.  ' 

"  Uncommcnly  good  reading,  even  for  that  uncommonly  readable  series."— 
Phila€Ulphia  Times. 

Mr.    Perkins'    Daughter.        An    International    Romance.      By    the 

Marchioness  Clara  Lanza. 

*'  Tlie  writing  is  sharp  and  concentrated ;  fine,  bright,  and  thoughtful.  * 
The  characters  are  portrayed  with  a  firm  hand  and  discriminating  taste.  *  * 
book  well  worth  reading."— A^.  Y.  Times. 


*  * 

*  A 


A 


$trangc  Disappearance.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 


**  Wilkie  Collins  would  not  need  to  be  ashamed  of  the  construction  of  the  story. 
*    *    *    It  keeps  the  reader's  close  attention  from  first  to  last."— iV.  K.  irv/»/«^/Vf/. 

The  Stranded  Ship.    A  Sto$  of  Sea  and  Shore.     By  I<.  Clarke  Davis. 

"  Full  of  the  finest  dramatic  action.  *  *  *  The  work  of  a  man  of  firm  genius 
and  exquisite  delicacy  of  touch."— A^.  K.  Evening  Post. 

Nestlenoolc    By  Leonard  Kip,  author  uf  *'  Under  the  Bells,"  etc. 

"  A  summer-afternoon  story,  redolent  of  lotus  flowerc,  and  breathing  a  spirit  of 
dolce/ar  nientt.  *  «  «  The  descriptions  of  the  Hudson-River  scenery  are  dreamily 
\i9MXVbx\:'—The  Cali/ornian. 

Eunice  Lathrop,  Spinster.    By  Annette  Lucille  Noble,  author  of 
"  Uncle  Jack's  Executors. 
"  A  capital  story,  cleverly  told." —CA/Va^  7V/*»«^. 

Gypsie.    By  M.  E.  Kenney. 

*'  a  pleasant  summer  story,  with  plenty  of  love  in  it,  and  just  enough  villany  to 
give  it  flavor."—  Transcript^  Boston. 

The  Sword  of  Damocles.    By  Anna  Katharine  GREE>f. 

'*  The  teachings  of  such  a  book,  so  intciestingly  given,  are  wide-reaching  for 
good."— /«/^r-C?f <?<»«,  Chicago. 

Hand  and  Ring.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

"  Nothing  can  be  more  complete  than  this  story.  The  incidents  are  well 
marshalled  ;  the  various  clues  adroitly  laid ;  the  personages  to  the  plots  well 
delineated;  and  the  impenetrable  mystery  maintained  to  \\i»\9JkV^— Commonwealth ^ 
Boston. 

The  Bassett  Claim.    By  Henry  R.  Elliot. 

*'  The  story  has  both  freshness  and  originality,  and ,  above  all,  this  peculiar  charm, 
that  you  feel  that  it  is  written  by  one  who  is  without  snobbishness  or  pretentiousness ; 
a  more  pleasant  story  we  have  not  read  for  some  time." — N.  Y.  Times. 

KENT,  JAMES. 

The  Johnson  Manor :  A  Tale  of  New  York  in  the  Early  Days 
of  the  Republic.    Sq.  i6mo $i  25 

'*  The  author  has  much  of  the  power  and  character  of  Cooper."— iV^  Orleans 
Timet. 


Sibyl  Spencer.    Sq.  i6mo 


$1  25 


"  Full  of  that  sort  of  adventure  and  realistic  description  which  makes  Cooper  so 
interesting."— /I /^/iM^  yournal. 


H 

11 


u 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS. 


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IVX   I  v-7  1.  i£  R  Y 


BY 


ANNA  KATHARINE  GREEN 


"  <t 


AUTHOR     or     "THE     LEAVENWORTH     CASE.       "A     STRANGE 
DISAPPEARANCE,"    "HAND   AND   RING,"   ETC.,    ETC. 


NEW  YORK  &  LONDON 

G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 

ii^c  ^mcheibochrr  ^rtas 

1886 


COPYRIGHT   BY 

ANNA  KATHARINE  GREEN 
1886 


Press  of 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTBR 

PACb 

I—The  Alarm 5 

II — A  Fearful  Question 

12 

III — Ada 

19 

%  IV — The  Pollards 

28 

V — Doubts  and  Queries 

48 

VI — Mrs.  Pollard 

71 

VII— Advances 

82 

VIII — A  Flower  from  the  Pollard  Conservatory 

97 

IX — An  Unexpected  Discovery 

112 

X — Rhoda  Colwell 

126 

XI — Under  the  Mill  Floor 

144 

XII — Dwight  Pollard 

158 

XIII — Guy  Pollard 

174 

XIV— Correspondence    . 

200 

XV— A  Gossip 

210 

XVI — The  Green  Envelope  . 

229 

XVII — David  Barrows 

242 

XVIII — A  Last  Requesi 

246 

XIX— A  Fatal  Delay     . 

263 

XX— The  Old  Mill 

273 

XXI— The  Vat 

286 

XXII— The  Cypher  . 

301 

XXIII     Too  Late 

314 

XXIV — Confronted  . 

327 

XXV— The  Final  Blow  . 

337 

XXVI— A  Feline  Touch    . 

346 

XXVII — Reparation  . 

366 

XXVIII— Two  CR  One  . 

369 

I 

fel 
Hi 
sh^ 
qui 
the 
dre 
my 
my 
( 
aga 
soli 


•    ^ 


THE    MILL   MYSTERY. 


I. 


THE    ALARM. 


Life,  struck  sharp  on  death, 
Makes  awful  lightning. 

— Mrs.  Browning. 

I  HAD  just  come  in  from  the  street.  I 
had  a  letter  in  my  hand.  It  was  for  my 
fellow-lodger,  a  young  girl  who  taught  in  the 
High  School,  and  whom  I  had  persuaded  to 
share  my  room  because  of  her  pretty  face  and 
quiet  ways.  She  was  not  at  home,  and  I  flung 
the  letter  down  on  the  table,  where  it  fell,  ad- 
dress downwards.  I  thought  no  more  of  it ; 
my  mind  was  too  full,  my  heart  too  heavy  with 
my  own  trouble. 

Going  to  the  window,  I  leaned  my  cheek 
against  the  pane.  Oh,  the  deep  sadness  of  a 
solitary  woman's  life  !     The  sense  of  helpless- 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


ness  that  comes  upon  her  when  every  effort 
made,  every  possibility  sounded,  she  reaHzes 
that  the  world  has  no  place  for  her,  and  that 
she  must  either  stoop  to  ask  the  assistance  of 
friends  or  starve  !     I  have  no  words  for  the 

misery  I  felt,  for  I  am  a  proud  woman,  and 

But  no  lifting  of  the  curtain  that  shrouds  my 
past.  It  has  fallen  for  ever,  and  for  you  and 
me  and  the  world  I  im  simply  Constance 
Sterling,  a  young  woman  of  twenty-five,  with- 
out home,  relatives,  or  means  of  support,  hav- 
ing in  her  pocket  seventy-five  cents  of  change, 
and  in  her  breast  a  heart  like  lead,  so  utterly 
had  every  hope  vanished  in  the  day's  rush  of 
disappointments. 

How  long  I  stood  with  my  face  to  the  win- 
dow I  cannot  say.  With  eyes  dully  fixed 
upon  the  blank  walls  of  the  cottages  opposite, 
I  stood  oblivious  to  all  about  me  till  the  fading 
sunlight — or  was  it  some  stir  in  the  room  be- 
hind me  ? — recalled  me  to  myself,  and  I  turned 
to  find  my  pretty  room-mate  staring  at  me  with 
a  troubled  look  that  for  a  moment  made  me 
forget  my  own  sorrows  and  anxieties. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked,  going  towards  her 
with  an  irresistible  impulse  of  sympathy. 


The  Alarm, 


"  I  don't  know,"  she  murmured  ;  "  a  sudden 
pain  here,"  laying  her  hand  on  her  heart. 

I  advanced  still  neare'  but  her  face,  which 
had  been  quite  pale,  turned  suddenly  rosy ; 
and,  with  a  more  natural  expression,  she  took 
me  by  the  hand,  and  said  : 

''  But  you  look  more  than  ill,  you  look 
unhappy.  Would  you  mind  telling  me  what 
worries  you  ? " 

The  gentle  tone,  the  earnest  glance  of  mod- 
est yet  sincere  interest,  went  to  my  heart. 
Clutching  her  hand  convulsively,  I  burst  into 
tears. 

''It  is  nothing,"  said  I  ;  "  only  my  last  re- 
source has  failed,  and  I  don't  know  where  to 
get  a  meal  for  to-morrow.  Not  that  this  is 
any  thing  in  itself,"  I  hastened  to  add,  my  nat- 
ural pride  reasserting  itself  ;  "  but  the  future  ! 
the  future  ! — what  am  I  to  do  with  my  future  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer  at  first.  A  gleam — 
I  can  scarcely  call  it  a  glow — passed  over  her 
face,  and  her  eyes  took  a  far-away  look  that 
made  them  very  sweet.  Then  a  little  flush 
stole  into  her  cheek,  and,  pressing  my  hand, 
she  said  : 

"  Will  you  trust  it  to  me  for  a  while  ?  " 


8 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


ii! 


A\ 


i 


I  must  have  looked  my  astonishment,  for 
she  hastened  to  add  : 

'*  Your  future  I  have  little  concern  for. 
With  such  capabilities  as  yours,  you  must  find 
work.  Why,  look  at  your  face  ! "  and  she 
drew  me  playfully  before  the  glass.  ''  See 
the  forehead,  the  mouth,  and  tell  me  you  read 
failure  there  !  But  your  present  is  what  is 
doubtful,  and  that  I  can  certainly  take  care  of." 

"■  But — - — "  I  protested,  with  a  sensation  of 
warmth  in  my  cheeks. 

The  loveliest  smile  stopped  me  before  I 
could  utter  a  word  more. 

'*  As  you  would  take  care  of  mine,"  she 
completed,  "■  if  our  positions  were  reversed." 
Then,  without  waiting  for  a  further  demur  on 
my  part,  she  kissed  me,  and  as  if  the  sweet 
embrace  had  made  us  sisters  ac  once,  drew  me 
to  a  chair  and  sat  down  at  my  feet.  **  You 
know,"  she  naively  murmured,  *'  I  am  almost 
rich  ;  I  have  five  hundred  dollars  laid  up  in 
the  bank,  and "    , 

I  put  my  hand  over  her  lips  ;  I  could  not  help 
It.  She  was  such  a  frail  little  thing,  so  white 
and  so  ethereal,  and  her  poor  five  hundred 
had  been  earned  by  such  weary,  weary  work. 


The  Alarm, 


*'  But  that  IS  nothing,  nothing,"  I  said. 
''You  have  a  future  to  provide  for,  too,  and 
you  are  not  as  strong  as  I  am,  if  you  have 
been  more  successful." 

She  laughed,  then  blushed,  then  lauofhed 
again,  and  impulsively  cried  : 

"  It  is,  however,  more  than  I  need  to  buy  a 
wedding-dress  with,  don't  you  think  ? "  And 
as  I  looked  up  surprised,  she  flashed  out  : 
"  Oh,  it  's  my  secret  ;  but  I  am  going  to  be 
married  in  a  month,  and — and  then  I  won't 
need  to  count  my  pennies  any  more  ;  and,  so  I 
say,  if  you  will  stay  here  with  me  without  a 
care  until  that  day  comes,  you  will  make  me 
very  happy,  and  put  me  at  the  same  time  un- 
der a  real  obligation  ;  for  I  shall  want  a  great 
many  things  done,  as  you  can  readily  con- 
ceive. 

What  did  I  say — what  could  I  say,  with  her 
sweet  blue  eyes  looking  so  truthfully  into 
mine,  but — "  Oh,  you  darling  girl !  "  while  my 
heart  filled  with  tears,  which  only  escaped 
from  overflowing  my  eyes,  because  I  would 
not  lessen  her  innocent  joy  by  a  hint  of  my 
own  secret  trouble. 

"  And  who  is  the  happy  man  ?  "  I  asked,  at 


lO 


ll 


'  1' 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


last,  rising  to  pull  down  the  curtain  across  a 
too  inquisitive  ray  of  afternoon  sunshine. 

'*  Ah,  the  noblest,  best  man  in  town  !  "  she 
breathed,  with  a  burst  of  gentle  pride.  "  Mr. 
B '* 

She  went  no  further,  or  if  she  did,  I  did  not 
hear  her,  for  just  then  a  hubbub  arose  in  the 
street,  and  lifting  the  window,  I  looked  out. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  she  cried,  coming  hastily 
towards  me.  " 

"■  I  don't  know,"  I  returned.  "  The  people 
are  all  rushing  in  one  direction,  but  I  cannot 
see  what  attracts  them." 

*^  Come  away  then  ! "  she  murmured  ;  and  I 
saw  her  hand  go  to  her  heart,  in  the  way  it  did 
when  she  first  entered  the  room  a  half-hour 
before.  But  just  then  a  sudden  voice  ex- 
claimed below  :  '^  The  clergyman  !  It  is  the 
clergyman  ! "  And  giving  a  smothered  shriek, 
she  grasped  me  by  the  arm,  crying  :  **  What 
do  they  say  ?  '  The  clergyman '  ?  Do  they 
say  '  The  clergyman  '  ?  " 

**  Yes,"  I  answered,  turning  upon  her  with 
alarm.  But  she  was  already  at  the  door. 
"Can  it  be?"  I  asked  myself,  as  I  hurriedly 
followed,  ''  that  it  is  Mr.  Barrows  she  is  going 
to  marry  ?  " 


The  Alarm. 


II 


For  in  the  small  town  of  S Mr.  Barrows 

was  the  only  man  who  could  properly  be 
meant  by  "  The  clergyman  "  ;  for  though  Mr. 
Kingston,  of  the  Baptist  Church,  was  a  worthy 
man  in  his  way,  and  the  Congregational  minis- 
ter had  an  influence  with  his  flock  that  was 
not  to  be  despised,  Mr.  Barrows,  alone  of  all 
his  fraternity,  had  so  won  upon  the  aflections 
and  confidence  of  the  people  as  to  merit  the 
appellation  of  "  The  clergyman." 

"  If  I  am  right,"  thought  I,  "  God  grant  that 
no  harm  has  come  to  him  ! "  and  I  dashed 
down  the  stairs  just  in  time  to  see  the  frail  form 
of  my  room-mate  flying  out  of  the  front  door. 

I  overtook  her  at  last ;  but  where  ?  Far  out 
of  town  on  that  dark  and  dismal  road,  where 
the  gaunt  chimneys  of  the  deserted  mill  rise 
from  a  growth  of  pine-trees.  But  I  knew  be- 
fore I  reached  her  what  she  would  find  ;  knew 
that  her  short  dream  of  love  was  over,  and 
that  stretched  amongst  the  weeds  which  choked 
the  entrance  to  the  old  mill  lay  the  dead  form 
of  the  revered  young  minister,  who,  by  his 
precept  and  example,  had  won  not  only  the 
heart  of  this  young  maiden,  but  that  of  the 
whole  community  in  which  he  lived  and 
labored.  V 


Pi* 


I '  I 


II. 


A    FEARFUL   QUESTION. 

Nay,  yet  there  's  more  in  this  : 

I  pray  thee,  speak  to  me  as  to  thy  thinkings, 

As  thou  dost  ruminate  ;  and  give  thy  worst  of  thoughts 

The  worst  of  words. — Othello. 

MY  room-mate  was,  as  I  have  intimated, 
exceedingly  frail  and  unobtrusive  in 
appearance ;  yet  when  we  came  upon  this 
scene,  the  group  of  men  about  the  inanimate 
form  of  her  lover  parted  involuntarily  as  if  a 
spirit  had  come  upon  them  ;  though  I  do  not 
think  one  of  them,  until  that  moment,  had  any 
suspicion  of  the  relations  between  her  and 
their  young  pastor.  Being  close  behind  her, 
I  pressed  forward  too,  and  so  it  happened  that 
I  stood  by  her  side  when  her  gaze  first  fell 
upon  her  dead  lover.  Never  shall  I  forget  the 
cry  she  uttered,  or  the  solemn  silence  that  fell 
over  all,  as  her  hand,  rigid  and  white  as  that 
of  a  ghost's,    slowly  rose   and   pointed   with 


A  Fearful  Question, 


13 


awful  question  at  the  pallid  brow  upturned  be- 
fore her.  It  seemed  as  if  a  spell  had  fallen, 
enchaining  the  roughest  there  from  answering, 
for  the  truth  was  terrible,  and  we  knew  it ;  else 
why  those  dripping  locks  and  heavily  soaked 
garments  oozing,  not  with  the  limpid  waters  of 
the  stream  we  could  faintly  hear  gurgling  in 
the  distance,  but  with  some  fearful  substance 
that  dyed  the  forehead  blue  and  left  upon  the 
grass  a  dark  stain  that  floods  of  rain  would 
scarcely  wash  away  ? 

*'  What  is  it  ?  Oh,  what  does  it  mean  ?  "  she 
faintly  gasped,  shuddering  backward  with  won- 
dering dread  as  one  of  those  tiny  streams  of 
strange  blue  moisture  found  its  way  to  her 
feet. 

Still  that  ominous  silence. 

**  Oh,  I  must  know  ! "  she  whispered.  **  I 
was  his  betrothed "  ;  and  her  eyes  wandered 
for  a  moment  with  a  wild  appeal  upon  those 
about  her. 

Whereupon  a  kindly  voice  spoke  up.     "  He 

has  been  drowned,  miss.     The  blue "  and 

there  he  hesitated. 

''  The  blue  is  from  the  remains  of  some  old 
dye  that  must  have  been  in  the  bottom  of  the 


li   I 


I   'I 


I 


IH) 


i 


14 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


vat  out  of  which  we  drew  him,"  another  voice 
went  on. 

"  The  vat !"  she  repeated.  "  The  vat  !  Was 
he  found " 

"In  the  vat  ?  Yes,  miss."  And  there  the 
silence  fell  again. 

It  was  no  wonder.  For  a  man  like  him, 
alert,  busy,  with  no  time  nor  inclmation  for 
foolish  explorations,  to  have  been  found 
drowned  in  the  disused  vat  of  a  half-tumbled- 
down  old  mill  on  a  lonesome  and  neglected 

road    meant But   what    did    it    mean? 

What  could  it  mean  ?  The  lowered  eyes  of 
those  around  seemed  to  decline  to  express 
even  a  conjecture. 

My  poor  friend,  so  delicate,  so  tender,  reeled 
in  my  arms.  "In  the  vat!"  she  reiterated 
again  and  again,  as  if  her  mind  refused  to  take 
in  a  fact  so  astounding  and  unaccountable. 

"Yes,  miss,  and  he  might  never  have  been 
discovered,"  volunteered  a  voice  at  last,  over 
my  shoulder,"  "  if  a  parcel  of  school-children 
had  n't  strayed  into  the  mill  this  afternoon.  It 
is  a  dreadful  lonesome  spot,  you  see,  and " 

"Hush!"  I  whispered;  "hush!"  and  I 
pointed  to  her  face,  which  at  these  words  had 


A  Fearful  Question, 


15 


n 


changed  as  if  the  breath  of  death  had  blown 
across  it ;  and  winding  my  arms  still  closer 
about  her,  I  endeavored  to  lead  her  away. 

But  I  did  not  know  my  room-mate.  Push- 
ing me  gently  aside,  she  turned  to  a  stalwart 
man  near  by,  whose  face  seemed  to  invite  con- 
fidence, and  said  : 

"  Take  me  in  and  show  me  the  vat." 

He  looked  at  her  amazed  ;  so  did  we. 

*'.I  must  see  it,"  she  said,  simply;  and  she 
herself  took  the  first  step  towards  the  mill. 

There  was  no  alternative  but  to  follow. 
This  we  did  in  terror  and  pity,  for  the  look 
with  which  she  led  the  way  was  not  the  look 
of  any  common  determination,  and  the  power 
which  seemed  to  force  her  feeble  body  on 
upon  its  fearful  errand  was  of  that  strained  and 
unnatural  order  which  might  at  any  moment 
desert  her,  and  lay  her  a  weak  and  helpless 
burden  at  our  feet.  , 

"It  must  be  dark  by  this  time  down  there," 
objected  the  man  she  had  appealed  to,  as  he 
stepped  doubtfully  forwrrd.  f. 

But  she  did  not  seem  to  heed.  Her  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  ruined  walls  before  her, 
rising  drear  and  blank  against  the  pale-green 
evening  sky, 


! 


i,l 


i 


i6 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


"He  could  have  had  no  errand  here,**  I 
heard  her  murmur.  **  How  then  be  drowned 
here  ? — how  ?  how  ?  " 

Alas  !  that  was  the  mystery,  dt  ..eart,  with 
Vv'hich  every  mind  was  busy  ! 

The  door  of  the  mill  had  fallen  down  and 
rotted  away  years  before,  so  we  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  entering.  But  upon  crossing  the 
threshold  and  making  for  the  steps  that  led 
below,  we  found  that  the  growing  twilight  was 
any  thing  but  favorable  to  a  speedy  or  even 
safe  advance.  For  the  flooring  was  badly 
broken  in  places,  and  the  stairs  down  which  we 
had  to  go  were  not  only  uneven,  but  strangely 
rickety  and  tottering. 

But  the  sprite  that  led  us  paused  for  noth- 
ing, and  long  before  I  had  passed  the  first  step 
she  had  reached  the  bottom  one,  and  was 
groping  her  way  towards  the  single  gleam  of 
light  that  infused  itself  through  the  otherwise 
pitchy  darkness. 

"■  Be  careful,  miss  ;  you  may  fall  into  the 
vat  yourself  !  "  exclaimed  more  than  one  voice 
behind  her. 

But  she  hurried  on,  her  slight  form  showing 
like  a  spectre  against  the  dim  gleam  towards 


A  Fearful  Questiofi. 


17 


which  she  bent  her  way,  till  suddenly  she 
paused,  and  we  saw  her  standing  with  clasped 
hands,  and  bent  head,  looking  down  into  what? 
We  could  readily  conjecture. 

'*  She  will  throw  herself  in,"  whispered  a 
voice ;  but  as,  profoundly  startled,  I  was  about 
to  hasten  forward,  she  hurriedly  turned  and 
came  towards  us. 

"  I  have  seen  it,"  she  quietly  said,  and 
glided  by  us,  and  up  the  stairs,  and  out  of  the 
mill  to  where  that  still  form  lay  in  its  ghostly 
quietude  upon  the  sodden  grass. 

For  a  moment  she  merely  looked  at  it,  then 
she  knelt,  and,  oblivious  to  the  eyes  bent  pity- 
ingly upon  her,  kissed  the  brow  and  then  the 
cheeks,  saying  something  which  I  could  not 
hear,  but  which  lent  a  look  of  strange  peace  to 
her  features,  that  were  almost  as  pallid  and 
set  now  as  his.  Then  she  arose,  and  holding  out 
her  hand  to  me,  was  turning  away,  when  a  word 
uttered  by  some  one,  I  could  not  tell  whom, 
stopped  her,  and  froze  her,  as  \t  were,  to  the  spot. 

That  w^ord  was  suicide  ! 

I  think  I  see  her  yet,  the  pale-green  twi- 
light on  her  forehead,  her  lips  parted,  and  her 
eyes  fixed  in  an  incredulous  stare. 


M, 


! 


i8 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


'*  Do  you  mean,"  she  cried,  "  that  he  de- 
serves any  such  name  as  that  ?  That  his  death 
here  was  not  one  of  chance  or  accident,  mys- 
terious, if  you  will,  but  still  one  that  leaves  no 
stigma  on  his  name  as  a  man  and  a  clergy- 
man ?  " 

**  Indeed,  miss,"  came  in  reply,  ''we  would 
not  like  to  say." 

"Then,  /  say,  that  unless  Mr.  Barrows  was 
insane,  he  never  premeditated  a  crime  of  this 
nature.  He  was  too  much  of  a  Christian. 
And  if  that  does  not  strike  you  as  good  rea- 
soning, he  v/as  too — happy." 

The  last  word  was  uttered  so  low  that  if 
it  had  not  been  for  the  faint  flush  that  flitted 
into  her  cheek,  it  would  scarcely  have  been 
understood.  As  it  was,  the  furtive  looks  of 
the  men  about  showed  that  they  comprehended 
all  that  she  would  say ;  and,  satisfied  with  the 
impression  made,  she  laid  her  hand  on  my 
arm,  and  for  the  second  time  turned  towards 
home. 


III. 


ADA. 


For,  in  my  sense,  't  is  happiness  to  die. — Othello. 

THERE  was  death  in  her  face  ;  I  saw  it 
the  moment  we  reached  the  refuge  of 
our  room.  But  I  was  scarcely  prepared  for 
the  words  which  she  said  to  me. 

*'  Mr.  Barrows  and  I  will  be  buried  in  one 
grave.  The  waters  which  drowned  him  have 
gone  over  my  head  also.  But  before  the  mo- 
ment comes  which  proves  my  words  true,  there 
is  one  thing  I  wish  to  impress  upon  you,  and  that 
is  :  That  no  matter  what  people  may  say,  or 
what  conjectures  they  may  indulge  in,  Mr. 
Barrows  never  came  to  his  end  by  any  pre- 
meditation of  his  own.  And  that  you  may  be- 
lieve me,  and  uphold  his  cause  in  the  face  of 
whatever  may  arise,  I  will  tell  you  something 
of  his  life  and  mine.     Will  you  listen?" 

Would  I  listen  ?     I  could  not  speak,  but  I 


iM 


ji 


20 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


drew  up  the  lounge,  and  sitting  down  by  her 
side,  pressed  my  cheek  close  to  hers.  She 
smiled  faintly,  all  unhappiness  gone  from  her 
look,  and  in  sweet,  soft  tones,  began  : 

"  We  are  both  orphans.  As  far  as  I  know, 
neither  of  us  have  any  nearer  relatives  than 
distant  cousins  ;  a  similarity  of  condition  that 
has  acted  as  a  bond  between  us  since  we  first 
knew  and  loved  each  other.     When  I  came  to 

S he  was  just  settled  here,  a  young  man 

full  of  zeal  and  courage.  Whatever  the  expe- 
rience of  his  college  days  had  been — and  he 
has  often  told  me  that  at  that  time  ambition 
was  the  mainspring  of  his  existence, — the  re- 
spect and  appreciation  which  he  found  here, 
.?nd  the  field  which  daily  opened  before  him 
for  work,  had  wakened  a  spirit  of  earnest  trust 
that  erelong  developed  that  latent  sweetness 
in  his  disposition  which  more  than  his  mental 
qualities,  perhaps,  won  him  universal  confi- 
dence and  love. 

*'  You  have  heard  him  preach,  and  you  know 
he  was  not  lacking  in  genius  ;  but  you  have 
not  heard  him  speak,  eye  to  eye  and  hand  to 
hand.  It  was  there  his  power  came  in,  and 
there,   too,   perhaps,  his  greatest  temptation. 


Ada, 


21 


For  he  was  one  for  women  to  love,  and  it  is 
not  always  easy  to  modify  a  naturally  magnetic 
look  and  tone  because  the  hand  that  touches 
yours  is  shy  and  white,  and  the  glance  which 
steals  up  to  meet  your  own  has  within  it  the 
hint  of  unconscious  worship.  Yet  what  he 
could  do  he  did  ;  for,  unknown,  perhaps,  to 
any  one  here,  he  was  engaged  to  be  married, 
as  so  many  young  ministers  are,  to  a  girl  he 
had  met  while  at  college. 

*'  I  do  not  mean  to  go  into  too  many  par- 
ticulars, Constance.  He  did  not  love  this 
girl,  but  he  meant  to  be  true  to  her.  He  was 
even  contented  with  the  prospect  of  marrying 

her,  till Oh,  Constance,  I  almost  forget 

that  he  is  gone,  and  that  my  own  life  is  at  an 
end,  when  I  think  of  that  day,  six  months 
ago — the  day  when  we  first  met,  and,  with- 
out knowing  it,  first  loved.  And  then  the 
weeks  which  followed  when  each  look  was  an 
event,  and  a  passing  word  the  making  or 
the  marring  of  a  day.  I  did  not  know 
what  it  all  meant  ;  but  he  realized  only  too 
soon  the  precipice  upon  which  we  stood,  and 
I  began  to  see  him  less,  and  find  him  more  re- 
served when,  by  any  chance,  we  were  thrown 


22 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


m 


\ ' 


!     Ii 


"   i 


!     ' 


,i         ! 


together.  His  cheek  grew  paler,  too,  and  his 
health  wavered.  A  struggle  was  going  on  in 
his  breast — a  struggle  of  whose  depth  and 
force  I  had  little  conception  then,  for  I  dared 
not  believe  he  loved  me,  though  I  knew  by 
this  time  he  was  bound  to  another  who  would 
never  be  a  suitable  companion  for  him. 

'*  At  last  he  became  so  ill,  he  was  obliged  to 
quit  his  work,  and  for  a  month  I  did  not  see 
him,  though  only  a  short  square  separated  us. 
He  was  slowly  yielding  to  an  insidious  disease, 
some  said  ;  and  I  had  to  bear  the  pain  of  this 
uncertainty,  as  well  as  the  secret  agony  of  my 
own  crushed  and  broken  heart. 

*'  But  one  morning — shall  I  ever  forget  it  ? — 
the  door  opened,  and  he,  /le  came  in  where  I 
was,  and  without  saying  a  word,  knelt  down 
by  my  side,  and  drew  my  head  forward  and 
laid  it  on  his  breast.  I  thought  at  first  it  was  a 
farewell,  and  trembled  with  a  secret  anguish 
that  was  yet  strangely  blissful,  for  did  not  the 
passionate  constraint  of  his  arms  mean  love  ? 
But  when,  after  a  moment  that  seemed  a  life- 
time, I  drew  back  and  looked  into  his  face,  I 
saw  it  was  not  a  farewell,  but  a  greeting,  he 
had  brought  me,  and  that  we  had  not  only  got 


Ada. 


23 


our  pastor  back  to  life,  but  that  this  pastor 
was  a  lover  as  well,  who  would  marry  the 
woman  he  loved.  » 

*'  And  I  was  right.  In  ten  minutes  I  knew 
that  a  sudden  freak  on  the  part  of  the  girl  he 
was  engaged  to  had  released  him,  without 
fault  of  his  own,  and  that  with  this  release  new 
life  had  entered  his  veins,  for  the  conflict  was 
over  and  love  and  duty  were  now  in  harmony. 

**  Constance,  I  would  not  have  you  think  he 
was  an  absolutely  perfect  man.  He  was  too 
sensitively  organized  for  that.  A  touch,  a  look 
that  was  not  in  harmony  with  his  thoughts, 
would  make  him  turn  pale  at  times,  and  I  have 
seen  him  put  to  such  suffering  by  petty  physi- 
cal causes,  that  I  have  sometimes  wondered 
where  his  great  soul  got  its  strength  to  carry 
him  through  the  exigencies  of  his  somewhat 
trying  calling.  But  whatever  his  weaknesses 
— and  they  were  very  few, — he  was  conscien- 
tious in  the  extreme,  and  suffered  agony  where 
other  men  would  be  affected  but  slightly.  You 
can  imagine  his  joy,  then,  over  this  unexpected 
end  to  his  long  pain  ;  and  remembering  that 
it  is  only  a  month  previous  to  the  day  set  apart 
by  us  for  our  marriage,  ask  yourself  whether 


,/'"■ 


pit 


24 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


I     .     !l 


i  \\ 


i! 


he  would  be  likely  to  seek  any  means  of  death, 
let  alone  such  a  horrible  and  lonesome  one  as 
that  which  has  robbed  us  of  him  to-day?" 

**  No  ! "  I  burst  out,  for  she  waited  for  my 
reply.     **  A  thousand  times,  no,  no,  no  ! " 

**  He  has  not  been  so  well  lately,  and  I  have 
not  seen  as  much  of  him  as  usual ;  but  that  Is 
because  he  had  some  literary  work  he  wished 
to  finish  before  the  wedding-day.  Ah,  It  will 
never  be  finished  now  !  and  our  wedding-day  Is 
to-day  !  and  the  bride  Is  almost  ready.  But ! " 
she  suddenly  exclaimed,  **  I  must  not  go  yet — 
not  till  you  have  said  again  that  he  was  no 
suicide.  Tell  me,"  she  vehemently  continued 
— "  tell  me  from  your  soul  that  you  believe  he 
is  not  answerable  for  his  death  ! " 

"  I  do  ! "  I  rejoined,  alarmed  and  touched  at 
once  by  the  fire  In  her  cheek  and  eye. 

**  And  that,"  she  went,  "  you  will  hold  to 
this  opinion  in  the  face  of  all  opposition  ! 
That,  whatever  attack  men  may  make  upon 
his  memory,  you  will  uphold  his  honor  and 
declare  his  Innocence  !  Say  you  will  be  my 
deputy  in  this,  and  I  will  love  you  even  In  my 
cold  grave,  and  bless  you  as  perhaps  only  those 
who  see  the  face  of  the  Father  can  bless  1 " 


.?^.^ 


Ada, 


25 


"  Ada  ! "  I  murmured,  ''  Ada  ! " 

*' You  will  do  this,  will  you  not?"  she  per- 
sisted. *'  I  can  die  knowing  I  can  trust  you  as 
I  would  myself."  • 

I  took  her  cold  hand  in  mine  and  promised, 
though  I  felt  how  feeble  would  be  any  power 
of  mine  to  stop  the  tide  of  public  opinion  if 
once  it  set  in  any  definite  direction. 

''  He  had  no  enemies,"  she  whispered  ;  ''but 
I  would  sooner  believe  he  had,  than  that  he 
sought  this  fearful  spot  of  his  own  accord." 

And  seemingly  satisfied  to  have  dropped 
this  seed  in  my  breast,  she  tremblingly  arose, 
and  going  for  her  writing-desk,  brought  it  back 
and  laid  it  on  the  lounge  by  her  side.  .  "  Go 
for  Mrs.  Gannon,"  she  said.  -\ 

Mrs.  Gannon  was  our  neighbor  in  the  next 
room,  a  widow  who  earned  her  livelihood  by 
nursing  the  sick  ;  and  I  was  only  too  glad  to 
have  her  with  me  at  this  time,  for  my  poor 
Ada's  face  was  growing  more  and  more  deathly, 
and  I  began  to  fear  she  had  but  prophesied  the 
truth  when  she  said  this  was  her  wedding-day. 

I  was  detained  only  a  few  minutes,  but  when 
I  came  back  with  Mrs.  Gannon,  I  found  my 
room-mate  writing. 


i    !  i 


it 


1       i:2 


I      I 


!ll 


26 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


**  Come  ! "  said  she,  in  a  voice  so  calm,  my 
companion  started  and  hastily  looked  at  her 
face  for  confirmation  of  the  fears  I  had  ex- 
pressed ;  '*  I  want  you  both  to  witness  my 
signature." 

With  one  last  effort  of  strength  she  wrote 
her  name,  and  then  handed  the  pen  to  Mrs. 
Gannon,  who  took  it  without  a  word. 

"  It  is  my  will,"  she  faintly  smiled,  watching 
me  as  I  added  my  name  at  the  bottom.  ''We 
have  had  to  do  without  lawyers,  but  I  don't 
think  there  will  be  any  one  to  dispute  my  last 
wishes."  And  taking  the  paper  in  her  hand, 
she  glanced  hastily  at  it,  then  folded  it,  and 
handed  it  back  to  me  with  a  look  that  made 
my  heart  leap  with  uncontrollable  emotion. 
**  I  can  trust  you,"  she  said,  and  fell  softly  back 
upon  the  pillow. 

**You  had  better  go  for  Dr.  Farnham," 
whispered  Mrs.  Gannon  in  my  ear,  with  an 
ominous  shake  of  her  head. 

And  though  I  felt  it  to  be  futile,  I  hastened 
to  comply. 

But  Dr.  Farnham  was  out,  attending  to  a 
very  urgent  case,  I  was  told  ;  and  so,  to  my 
growing  astonishment  and  dismay,  were  Dr. 


Ada, 


27 


Spaulding  and  Dr.  Perry.  I  was  therefore 
obliged  to  come  back  alone,  which  I  did  with 
what  speed  I  could  ;  for  I  begrudged  every 
moment  spent  away  from  the  side  of  one 
I  had  so  lately  learned  to  love,  and  must  so 
soon  lose. 

Mrs.  Gannon  met  me  at  the  door,  and  with 
a  strange  look,  drew  me  in  and  pointed  tow- 
ards the  bed.  There  lay  Ada,  white  as  the 
driven  snow,  with  closed  eyes,  whose  faintly 
trembling  lids  alone  betokened  that  she  was 
not  yet  fled  to  the  land  of  quiet  shadows.  At 
her  side  was  a  picture  of  the  man  she  loved, 
and  on  her  breast  lay  a  bunch  of  withered 
roses  I  could  easily  believe  had  been  his  last 
gift.  It  was  a  vision  of  perfect  peace,  and  I 
could  not  but  contrast  it  with  what  my  imagi- 
nation told  me  must  have  been  the  frenzied 
anguish  of  that  other  death. 

My  approach,  though  light,  disturbed  her. 
Opening  her  eyes,  she  gave  me  one  long,  long 
look.  Then,  as  if  satisfied,  she  softly  closed 
them  again,  breathed  a  little  sigh,  and  in 
another  moment  was  no  more. 


IV. 


THE    POLLARDS. 


I' 


■•'li 


I  I 


There  's  something  in  his  soul, 

O'er  which  his  melancholy  sits  on  brood. 

— Hamlet. 

FEARFUL  as  the  experiences  of  this  day 
had  been,  they  were  not  yet  at  an  end, 
for  me.  Indeed,  the  most  remarkable  were  to 
come.  As  I  sat  In  this  room  of  death — it  was 
not  far  from  midnight — I  suddenly  heard 
voices  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Gannon  came  in 
with  Dr.  Farnham. 

"It  is  very  extraordinary,"  I  heard  him  mut- 
ter as  he  crossed  the  threshold.  **  One  dying 
and  another  dead,  and  both  struck  down  by 
the  same  cause." 

I  could  not  imagine  what  he  meant,  so  I 
looked  at  him  with  some  amazement.  But  he 
did  not  seem  to  heed  me.  Going  straight  to 
the  bed,  he  gazed  silently  at  Ada's  pure 
features,  with  what  I  could  not  but  consider  a 
troubled   glance.       Then    turning   quickly  to 

23 


The  Pollards, 


Mrs.  Gannon,  he  said,  In  his  somewhat  brusque 
way : 

"  All  is  over  here  ;  you  can  therefore  leave. 
I  have  a  patient  who  demands  your  instant 


care. 
"  But- 


-"  she  began. 


"  I  have  come  on  purpose  for  you,"  he  put 
in,  authoritatively.  **  It  Is  an  urgent  case  ;  do 
not  keep  me  waiting."  >• 

"■  But,  sir,"  she  persisted,  "  It  Is  Impossible. 
I  am  expected  early  In  the  morning  at  Scott's 
Corners,  and  was  just  going  to  bed  when  you 
came  In,  In  order  to  get  a  little  sleep  before 
taking  the  train." 

"  Dr.  Perry's  case  ?  "  " 

"Yes." 

He  frowned,  and  I  am  not  sure  but  what  he 
uttered  a  mild  oath.  At  all  events,  he  seemed 
very  much  put  out. 

I  immediately  drew  near. 

"Oh,  sir,"  I  cried,  "If  you  would  have  con- 
fidence In  me.  I  am  not  unused  to  the  work, 
and^ " 

His  stare  frightened  me.  It  was  so  searching 
and  so  keen. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  he  asked. 


|i! 


'  'I. 


t'i 


n 

I 


I 


30 


TAe  Mill  Mystery. 


I  told  him,  and  Mrs.  Gannon  put  in  a  word 
for  me.  I  was  reliable,  she  said,  and  if  too 
much  experience  was  not  wanted,  would  do 
better  than  such  and  such  a  one- 


-nammg  cer- 


tain persons,  probably  neighbors. 

But  the  doctor's  steady  look  told  me  he  re- 
lied more  on  his  own  judgment  than  on  any- 
thing she  or  I  could  say. 

**  Can  you  hold  your  tongue?"  he  asked. 

I  started.     Who  would  not  have  done  so  ? 

"  I  see  that  you  can,"  he  muttered,  and 
glanced  down  at  my  dress.  '-'When  can  you 
be  ready  ? "  he  inquired.  "  You  may^  be  wanted 
for  days,  and  it  may  be  only  for  hours." 

"Will  ten  minutes  be  soon  enough?"  I 
asked. 

A  smile  difficult  to  fathom  crossed  his  firm 
lip. 

"  I  will  give  you  fifteen,"  he  said,  and  turned 
towards  the  door.  But  on  the  threshold  he 
paused  and  looked  back.  "  You  have  not 
asked  who  or  what  your  patient  is,"  he  grimly 
suggested.  * 

**  No,"  I  answered  shortly. 

**  Well,"  said  he,  "  it  is  Mrs.  Pollard,  and 
*  she  is  going  to  die." 


The  Pollards. 


Mrs.  Pollard  !  Mrs.  Gannon  and  I  invol- 
untarily turned  and  looked  at  each  other. 

"Mrs.  Pollard  ! "  repeated  the  good  nurse, 
wonderingly.     "  I  did  not  know  she  was  sick." 

**  She  was  n't  this  noon.  It  is  a  sudden  at- 
tack. Apoplexy  we  call  it.  She  fell  at  the 
news  of  Mr.  Barrows'  death." 

And  with  this  parting  shot,  he  went  out  and 
closed  the  door  behind  him. 

I  sank,  just  a  little  bit  weakened,  on  the 
lounge,  then  rose  with  renewed  vigor.  "  The 
work  has  fallen  into  the  right  hands,"  thought 
I.  "  Ada  would  wish  me  to  leave  her  for  such 
a  task  as  this." 

And  yet  I  was  troubled.  For  though  this 
sudden  postration  of  Mrs.  Pollard,  on  the 
hearing  of  her  young  pastor's  sorrowful  death, 
seemed  to  betoken  a  nature  of  more  than  or- 
dinary sensibility,  I  had  always  heard  that  she 
was  a  hard  woman,  with  an  eye  of  steel  and  a 
heart  that  could  only  be  reached  through 
selfish  interests.  But  then  she  was  the  mag- 
nate of  the  place,  the  beginning  and  end  of  the 

aristocracy  of  S ;  and  when  is  not  such  a 

one  open  to  calumny  ?     I  was  determined  to 
reserve  my  judgment.  . 


32 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


(  W 


In  the  fifteen  minutes  allotted  me,  I  was 
ready.  Suitable  arrangements  had  already 
been  made  for  the  removal  of  my  poor  Ada's 
body  to  the  house  that  held  her  lover.  For 
the  pathos  of  the  situation  had  touched  all 
hearts,  and  her  wish  to  be  laid  in  the  same 
grave  with  him  met  with  no  opposition.  I 
could  therefore  leave  with  a  clear  conscience  ; 
Mrs.  Gannon  promising  to  do  all  that  was 
necessary,  even  if  she  were  obliged  to  take  a 
later  train  than  she  had  expected  to. 

Dr.  Farnham  was  in  the  parlor  waiting  for 
me,  and  uttered  a  grunt  of  satisfaction  as  he 
saw  me  enter,  fully  equipped. 

"  Come ;  this  is  business,"  he  said,  and  led 
the  way  at  once  to  his  carriage. 

We  did  not  speak  for  the  first  block.  He 
seemed  meditating,  and  I  was  sumuioning  up 
courage  for  the  ordeal  before  me.  For,  now 
that  we  were  started,  I  began  to  feel  a  certain 
inward  trembling  not  to  be  entirely  accounted 
for  by  the  fact  that  I  was  going  into  a  strange 
house  to  nurse  a  woman  of  whom  report  did 
not  speak  any  too  kindly.  Nor  did  the  late- 
ness of  the  hour,  and  the  desolate  aspect  of  the 
unlighted  streets,  tend  greatly  to  reassure  me. 


The  Pollards, 


33 


Indeed,  something  of  the  weird  and  uncanny 
seemed  to  mingle  with  the  whole  situation,  and 
I  found  myself  dreading  our  approach  to  the 
house,  which  from  its  old-time  air  and  secluded 
position  had  always  worn  for  me  an  aspect  of 
gloomy  reserve,  that  made  it  even  in  the  day- 
light, a  spot  of  somewhat  fearful  interest. 

Dr.  Farnham,  who  may  have  suspected  my 
agitation,  though  he  gave  no  token  of  doing 
so,  suddenly  spoke  up. 

"  It  is  only  right  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  '*  that 
I  should  never  have  accepted  the  service  of  an 
inexperienced  girl  like  you,  if  any  thing  was 
necessary  but  watchfulness  and  discretion. 
Mrs.  Pollard  lies  unconscious,  and  all  you  will 
have  to  do  is  to  sit  at  her  side  and  wait  for  the 
first  dawning  of  returning  reason.  It  may  come 
at  any  moment,  and  it  may  never  come  at  all. 
She  is  a  very  sick  woman." 

"  I  understand,"  I  murmured,  plucking  up 
heart  at  what  did  not  seem  so  very  difficult 
a  task. 

''  Her  sons  will  be  within  call ;  so  will  I.  By 
daybreak  we  hope  to  have  her  daughter  from 
Newport  with  her.  You  do  not  know  Mrs. 
Harrington  ? "  • 


til    ,  I, 

^1  ^ 


't     ! 


f 


I. 


34 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery. 


I  shook  my  head.    Who  was  I,  that  I  should 

know  these  grand  folks  ?     And  yet But 

I  promised  I  would  say  nothing  about  days 
now  so  completely  obliterated. 

"  She  will  not  be  much  of  an  assistance,"  he 
muttered.  **  But  it  is  right  she  should  come 
— quite  right." 

I  remembered  that  I  had  heard  that  Mrs. 
Pollard's  daughter  was  a  beauty,  and  that  she 
had  made  a  fine  match  ;  which,  said  of  Mrs. 
Pollard's  daughter,  must  have  meant  a  great 
deal.  I,  however,  said  nothing,  only  listened 
in  a  vague  hope  of  hearing  more,  for  my  curi- 
osfty  was  aroused  in  a  strange  way  about  these 
people,  and  nothing  which  the  good  doctor 
could  have  said  about  them  would  have  come 
amiss  at  this  time.  n, 

But  our  drive  had  been  too  rapid,  and  we 
were  too  near  the  house  for  him  to  think  of 
any  thing  but  turning  into  the  gateway  with 
the  necessary  caution.  For  the  night  was  un- 
usually dark,  and  it  was  difficult  to  tell  just 
where  the  gate-posts  were.  We,  however, 
entered  without  accident,  and  in  another  mo- 
ment a  gleam  of  light  greeted  us  from  the  dis- 
tant porch. 


The  Pollards, 


35 


"  They  are  expecting  us,"  he  said,  and 
touched  up  his  horse.  We  flew  up  the  grav- 
elled road,  and  before  I  could  still  the  sudden 
heart-beat  that  attacked  me  at  sight  of  the 
grim  row  of  cedars  which  surrounded  the 
house,  we  were  hurrying  up  between  the  two 
huge  lions  rampant  that  flanked  the  steps,  to 
where  a  servant  stood  holding  open  the  door. 

A  sense  of  gloom  and  chill  at  once  over- 
whelmed me.  From  the  interior,  which  I 
faintly  saw  stretching  before  me,  there  breathed 
even  in  that  first  moment  of  hurried  entrance 
a  cold  and  haughty  grandeur  that,  however 
rich  and  awe-inspiring,  was  any  thing  but  at- 
tractive to  a  nature  like  mine. 

Drawing  back,  I  let  Dr.  Farnham  take  the 
lead,  which  he  did  in  his  own  brusque  way. 
And  then  I  saw  what  the  dim  light  had  not 
revealed  before,  a  young  man's  form  standing 
by  the  newel-post  of  the  wide  staircase  that 
rose  at  our  left.  He  at  once  came  forward, 
and  as  the  light  from  the  lamp  above  us  fell 
fully  upon  him,  I  saw  his  face,  and  started. 

Why?  I  could  not  tell.  Not  because  his 
handsome  features  struck  me  pleasantly,  for 
they  did  not.     There  was  something  in  their 


fl 


36 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


expression  which  I  did  not  like,  and  yet  as  I 
looked  at  them  a  sudden  sensation  swept  over 
me  that  made  my  apprehensions  of  a  moment 
back  seem  like  child's  play,  and  I  became  con- 
scious that  If  a  sudden  call  of  life  or  death 
were  behind  me  urging  me  on  the  instant  to 
quit  the  house,  I  could  not  do  it  while  that 
face  was  before  me  to  be  fathomed,  and,  if 
possible,  understood. 

"  Ah,  I  see  you  have  brought  the  nurse," 
were  the  words  with  which  he  greeted  Dr. 
Farnham.  And  the  voice  was  as  thrilling  in 
its  tone  as  the  face  was  in  its  expression. 
**  But,"  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  as  his  eyes  met 
mine,  "  this  is  not  Mrs.  Gannon."  And  he 
hurriedly  drew  the  doctor  down  the  hall.  "  Why 
have  you  brought  this  young  girl  ?  "  he  asked, 
in  tones  which,  however  lowered,  I  could  easily 
distinguish.  "  Did  n't  you  know  there  were 
reasons  why  we  especially  wanted  an  elderly 
person  ?  " 

**  No,"  I  heard  the  doctor  say,  and  then,  his 
back  being  towards  me,  I  lost  the  rest  of  his 
speech  till  the  words,  "  She  Is  no  gossip,"  came 
to  salute  me  and  make  me  ask  myself  if  there 
was  a  secret  skeleton  in  this  house,  that  they 
feared  so  much  the  eyes  of  a  stranger. 


The  Pollards. 


n 


"  But,"  the  young  man  went  hurriedly  on, 
*'  she  is  not  at  all  the  kind  of  person  to  have 

over  my  mother.     How   could   we "  and 

there  his  voice  fell  so  as  to  become  unintel- 
ligible. 

But  the  doctor's  sudden  exclamation  helped 
me  out. 

"  What  !  "  he  wonderingly  cried,  "  do  you 
intend  to  sit  up  too  ?  " 

"  I  or  my  brother,"  was  the  calm  response, 
"  Would  you  expect  us  to  leave  her  alone  with 
a  stranger  ?  '* 

The  doctor  made  no  answer,  and  the  young 
man,  taking  a  step  sidewise,  threw  me  a  glance 
full  of  anxiety  and  trouble.  ^ 

**  I  don't  like  it,"  he  murmured  ;  "  but  there 
must  be  a  woman  of  some  kind  in  the  room, 
and  a  stranger " 

He  did  not  finish  his  words,  but  it  seemed 
as  if  he  were  going  to  say  :  **  And  a  stranger 
may,  after  all,  be  preferable  to  a  neighbor." 
But  I  cannot  be  sure  of  this,  for  he  was  not  a 
man  easv  to  sound.  But  what  I  do  know  is 
that  he  stepped  forward  to  me  with  an  easy 
grace,  and  giving  me  a  welcome  as  courteous 
as  if  I  had  been  the  one  of  all  others  he  de- 
sired to  see,  led  me  up  the  stairs  to  a  room 


fl 


38 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


ri  I 


P     :'l 


I  i: 


which  he  announced  to  be  mine,  saying,  as  he 
left  me' at  the  door  : 

"  Come  out  in  five  minutes,  and  my  brother 
will  introduce  you  to  your  duties." 

So  far  I  had  seen  no  woman  in  the  house, 
and  I  was  beginning  to  wonder  if  Mrs.  Pollard 
had  preferred  to  surround  herself  with  males, 
when  the  door  was  suddenly  opened  and  a 
rosy-cheeked  girl  stepped  in. 

"  Ah,  excuse  me,"  she  said,  with  a  stare  ; 
^'  I  thought  it  was  the  nurse  as  was  here." 

'*  And  it  is  the  nurse,"  I  returned,  smiling  in 
spite  of  myself  at  her  look  of  indignant  sur- 
prise. "  Do  you  want  any  thing  of  me  ?  "  I 
hastened  to  ask,  for  her  eyes  were  like  saucers 
and  her  head  was  tossing  airily. 

"  No,"  she  said,  almost  •  ith  spite.  "  I  came 
to  see  if  you  wanted  any  thing?  " 

I  shook  my  head  with  what  good  nature  I 
could,  for  I  did  not  wish  to  make  an  enemy  in 
this  house,  even  of  a  chambermaid. 

"  And  you  are  really  the  nurse  ?  "  she  asked, 
coming  nearer  and  looking  at  me  in  the  full 
glare  of  the  gas. 

"Yes,"  I  assured  her,  "really  and  truly  the 


nurse. 


»» 


The  Pollards. 


39 


"  Well,  I  don't  understand  it  ! "  she  cried. 
"  I  was  always  Mrs.  Pollard's  favorite  maid, 
and  I  was  with  her  when  she  was  took,  and 
would  be  with  her  now,  but  they  won't  let  me 
set  a.  foot  inside  the  door.  And  when  I  asked 
why  they  keep  me  out,  who  was  always  atten- 
tive and  good  to  her,  they  say  I  am  too  young. 
And  here  you  be  younger  than  I,  and  a  stran- 
ger too.  I  don't  like  it,"  she  cried,  tossing 
her  head  again  and  again.  **  I  have  n't  de- 
served it,  and  I  think  it  is  mighty  mean." 

I  saw  the  girl  was  really  hurt,  so  I  hastened 
to  explain  that  I  was  not  the  nurse  they  ex- 
pected, and  was  succeeding,  I  think,  in  molli- 
fying her,  when  a  step  was  heard  in  the  hall, 
and  she  gave  a  frightened  start,  and  hurried 
towards  the  door. 

**  So  you  are  sure  you  don't  want  any- 
thing?" she  cried,  and  was  out  of  my  sight 
before  I  could  answer. 

There  was  nothing  to  detain  me,  and  I 
hastened  to  follow.  As  I  crossed  the  sill  I 
almost  started  too,  at  sight  of  the  tall,  slim, 
truly  sinister  figure  that  awaited  me,  leaning 
against  the  opposite  wall.  He  was  younger 
than  his  brother,  and  had  similar  features,  but 


?  Vi 


:L 


'  PI 


4  t 


^ 


40 


r^^  Mill  Mystery, 


there  was  no  charm  here  to  make  you  forget 
that  the  eye  was  darkly  glittering,  and  the  lip 
formidable  in  its  subtlety  and  power.  He  ad- 
vanced with  much  of  the  easy  nonchalance 
that  had  so  characterized  the  other. 

"  Miss  Sterling,  I  believe,"  said  he ;  and 
with  no  further  word,  turned  and  led  me  down 
the  hall  to  the  sick-room.  I  noticed  even  then 
that  he  paused  and  listened  before  he  pushed 
open  the  door,  and  that  with  our  first  step  in- 
side he  cast  a  look  of  inquiry  at  the  bed  that 
had  something  beside  a  son's  '  jving  anxiety  in 
it.  And  I  hated  the  man  as  I  would  a  ser- 
pent, though  he  bowed  as  he  set  me  a  chair, 
and  was  careful  to  move  a  light  he  thought 
shone  a  little  too  directly  in  my  eyes. 

The  other  brother  was  not  present,  and  I 
could  give  my  undivided  attention  to  my 
charge.  I  found  her  what  report  had  pro- 
claimed her  to  be,  a  handsome  woman  of  the 
sternly  imposing  type.  Even  with  her  age 
against  her  and  the  shadow  of  death  lying  on 
her  brow  and  cheek,  there  was  something 
strangely  attractive  in  the  features  and  the 
stately  contour  of  her  form.  But  it  was  at- 
traction   that   was   confined   to  the  eye,  and 


The  Pollards. 


41 


could  by  no  means  allure  the  heart,  for  the 
same  seal  of  mysterious  reserve  was  upon  her 
that  characterized  her  sons,  and  in  her,  as  in 
the  younger  one  of  these,  it  inspired  a  distrust 
which  I  could  imagine  no  smile  as  dissipating. 
She  lay  in  a  state  of  coma,  and  her  heavy 
breathing  was  the  only  sound  that  broke  the 
silence  of  the  great  room.  "God  help  me!" 
thought  I  ;  but  had  no  wish  to  leave.  Instead 
of  that,  I  felt  a  fearful  pleasure  in  the  prospect 
before  me — such  effect  had  a  single  look  had 
upon  me  from  eyes  I  trembled  to  meet  again 
or  read. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  I  sat  there  gazing 
in  the  one  direction  for  that  faint  sign  of  life 
for  which  the  doctor  had  bid  me  watch.  That 
he  who  inspired  me  with  dread  was  behind 
me,  I  knew ;  but  I  would  not  turn  my  head 
towards  him.  I  was  determined  to  resist  the 
power  of  this  man,  even  if  I  must  succumb  a 
trifle  to  that  of  the  other. 

I  was,  therefore,  surprised  when  a  hand  was 
thrust  over  my  shoulder,  and  a  fan  dropped 
into  my  lap. 

"  It  is  warm  here,"  was  the  comment  which 
accompanied  the  action. 


42 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


1 1 


k 


I      Ml 


I      I 


■i-i        ! 


^ 


I  thanked  him,  but  felt  that  his  sole  object 
had  been  to  cover  his  change  of  position. 
For,  when  he  sat  down  again,  it  was  where  he 
could  see  my  face.  I  therefore  felt  justified  in 
plying  the  fan  he  had  offered  me,  In  such  a  way 
as  to  shut  off  his  somewhat  basilisk  gaze.  And 
so  a  dreary  hour  went  by. 

It  was  now  well  on  towards  morning,  and  I 
was  beginning  to  suffer  from  the  languor 
natural  after  so  many  harrowing  excitements, 
when  the  door  opened  behind  me,  and  the 
electric  thrill  shooting  through  all  my  mem- 
bers, testified  as  to  whose  step  it  was  that  en- 
tered. At  the  same  moment  the  young  man 
at  my  side  arose,  and  with  what  I  felt  to  be  a 
last  sharp  look  in  my  direction,  hastened  to 
where  his  brother  stood,  and  entered  into  a 
whispered  conversation  with  him.  Then  I 
heard  the  door  close  again,  and  almost  at  the 
same  instant  Mr.  Pollard  the  elder  advanced, 
and  without  seeking  an  excuse  for  his  action, 
sat  down  close  by  my  side.  The  fan  at  once 
dropped  ;  I  had  no  wish  to  avoid  this  man's 
scrutiny. 

And  yet  when  with  a  secret  bracing  of  my 
nerves  I  looked  up  and  met  his  eyes  fixed  with 


The  Pollards, 


43 


that  baffling  expression  upon  mine,  I  own  that 
I  felt  an  inward  alarm,  as  if  something  vague- 
ly dangerous  had  reared  itself  in  my  path, 
which  by  its  very  charm  instinctively  bade  me 
beware.  I,  however,  subdued  my  apprehen- 
sions, thinking,  with  a  certain  haughty  pride 
which  I  fear  will  never  be  eliminated  from  my 
nature,  of  the  dangers  I  had  already  met  with 
and  overcome  in  my  brief  but  troubled  life  ; 
and  meeting  his  look  with  a  smile  which  I 
knew  to  contain  a  spice  of  audacity,  I  calmly 
waited  for  the  words  I  felt  to  be  hovering 
upon  his  lips.  They  were  scarcely  the  ones  I 
expected. 

**  Miss  Sterling,"  said  he,  '*  you  have  seen 
Anice,  my  mother's  waiting-maid?"  "^ 

I  bowed.  I  was  too  much  disconcerted  to 
speak. 

"  And  she  has  told  you  her  story  of  my 
mother's  illness  ?  "  he  went  on,  pitilessly  hold- 
ing me  with  his  glance.  *'  You  need  not  an- 
swer," he  again  proceeded,  as  I  opened  my 
lips.  "  I  know  Anice  ;  she  has  not  the  gift  of 
keeping  her  thoughts  to  herself." 

"  An  unfortunate  thing  in  this  house,"  I  in- 
wardly commented,  and  made  a  determination 


t 


44 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


r !. 


:n 


on  the  spot  that  whatever  emotions  I  might 
experience  from  the  mysteries  surrounding  me, 
this  master  of  reserve  should  find  there  was 
one  who  could  keep  her  thoughts  to  herself, 
even,  perhaps,  to  his  own  secret  disappoint- 
ment and  chagrin. 

**  She  told  you  my  mother  was  stricken  at 
the  sudden  news  of  Mr.  Barrows'  death  ?" 

"  That  was  told  me,"  I  answered ;  for  this 
was  a  direct  question,  put,  too,  with  an  effort  I 
could  not  help  but  feel,  notwithstanding  the 
evident  wish  on  his  part  to  preserve  an  ap- 
pearance of  calmness. 

"  Then  some  explanation  is  needed,"  he  re- 
marked, his  eyes  flashing  from  his  mother's 
face  to  mine  with  equal  force  and  intentness. 
"  My  mother " — his  words  were  low,  but  it 
was  impossible  not  to  hear  them — "  has  not 
been  well  since  my  father  died,  two  months 
ago.  It  needed  but  the  slightest  shock  to  pro- 
duce the  result  you  unhappily  see  before  you. 
That  shock  this  very  girl  supplied  by  the  in- 
considerate relation  of  Mr.  Barrows'  fearful 
fate.  We  have  taken  a  prejudice  against  the 
girl,  in  consequence.  Do  you  blame  us  ?  This 
is  our  mother." 


\ 


The  Pollards. 


45 


r  this 

fort  I 

■'^"^ 

g  the 

n  ap- 

* 

le  re- 

►ther*  s 

.  "i-'^ 

tness. 

^i 

3Ut   it 

-^'^ 

IS  not 

M 

lonths 

tI 

;o  pro- 

'1 

e  you. 

;he  in- 

earful 

■M 

St  the 

I 

This 

What  could  I  feel  or  say  but  No  ?  What 
could  any  one,  under  the  circumstances  ?  Why 
then  did  a  sudden  vision  of  Ada's  face,  as  she 
gave  me  that  last  look,  rise  up  before  me,  bid- 
ding me  remember  the  cause  to  which  I  was 
pledged,  and  not  put  too  much  faith  in  this 
man  and  his  plausible  explanations. 

•'  I  only  hope  death  will  not  follow  the  fright- 
ful occurrence,"  he  concluded  ;  and  do  what  he 
would,  his  features  became  drawn,  and  his  face 
white,  as  his  looks  wandered  back  to  his  mother. 

A  sudden  impulse  seized  me. 

*'  Another  death,  you  mean,"  said  I  ;  "  one 
already  has  marked  the  event,  though  it  hap- 
pened only  a  few  short  hours  ago." 

His  eyes  flashed  to  mine,  and  a  very  vivid 
and  real  horror  blanched  his  already  pallid 
cheek  till  it  looked  blue  in  the  dim  light. 

**  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  gasped  ;  and  J 
saw  the  doctor  had  refrained  from  telling  him 
of  Ada's  pitiful  doom.  . 

**  I  mean,"  said  I,  with  a  secret  compunction 
I  strove  in  vain  to  subdue,  **  that  Mr.  Bar- 
rows' betrothed  could  not  survive  his  terrible 
fate — that  she  died  a  few  hours  since,  and  will 
be  buried  in  the  same  grave  as  her  lover." 


r   i  I 


U 


I   ^ 


46 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


"His  betrothed?"  Young  Mr.  Pollard 
had  risen  to  his  feet,  and  was  actually  stagger- 
ing under  the  shock  of  his  emotions.  "  1  did 
not  know  he  had  any  betrothed.  I  thought 
she  had  jilted  him " 

**  It  is  another  woman,"  I  broke  in,  jealous 
for  my  poor  dead  Ada's  fame.  "  The  woman 
he  was  formerly  engaged  to  never  loved  him  ; 
but  this  one "  I  could  not  finish  the  sen- 
tence. My  own  agitation  was  beginning  to 
master  me. 

He  looked  at  me,  horrified,  and  I  could  have 
sworn  the  hair  rose  on  his  forehead. 

"  What  was  her  name  ?"  he  asked.  "  Is  it 
— is  it  any  one  I  know  ?  "  Then,  as  if  sud- 
denly conscious  that  he  was  betraying  too  keen 
an  emotion  for  the  occasion,  pitiful  as  it  was, 
he  forced  his  lips  into  a  steadier  curve,  and 
quietly  said  :•  "  After  what  has  happened  here, 
I  am  naturally  overcome  by  a  circumstance  so 
coincident  with  our  own  trouble." 

"  Naturally,"  I  assented  with  a  bow,  and 
again  felt  that  secret  distrust  warring  with  a 
new  feeling  that  was  not  unlike  compassion. 

"  Her  name  is  Ada  Reynolds,"  I  continued,  re- 
membering his  last  question.    '  *  She  lived " 


The  Pollaf  ds. 


47 


"  I  know,"  he  interrupted  ;  and  without  an- 
other word  walked  away,  and  for  a  long  time 
stood  silent  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 
Then  he  came  back  and  sat  down,  and  when  I 
summoned  up  courage  to  glance  at  his  face,  I 
saw  that  a  change  had  passed  over  it,  that  in 
all  probability  was  a  change  for  life. 

And  my  heart  sank — sank  till  I  almost  en- 
vied that  unconscious  form  before  which  we 
sat,  and  from  which  alone  now  came  the  one 
sound  which  disturbed  the  ghostly  silence  of 
that  dread  chamber. 


V. 


!    li     A         I 


DOUBTS   AND    QUERIES. 


And  that  well  might 
Advise  him  to  a  caution,  to  hold  what  distance 
His  wisdom  can  provide — Macbeth. 

AT  daybreak  the  doctor  came  in.  Taking 
advantage  of  the  occasion,  I  sHpped 
away  for  a  few  minutes  to  my  own  room,  anx- 
ious for  any  change  that  would  reHeve  me  from 
the  gloom  and  oppres:  ion  caused  by  this  pro- 
longed and  silent  Ute-h-tHe  vvith  a  being  that 
at  once  so  interested  and  repelled  me.  Ob- 
serving that  my  windows  looked  ^towards  the 
east,  I  hastened  to  throw  wide  the  blinds  and 
lean  out  into  the  open  air.  A  burst  of  rosy 
sunlight  greeted  me.  "  Ah  !  "  thought  I,  "  if 
I  have  been  indulging  in  visions,  this  will  dis- 
pel them  "  ;  and  I  quaffed  deeply  and  long  of 
the  fresh  and  glowing  atmosphere  before  allow- 
ing my  thoughts  to  return  for  an  instant  to 
the  strange  and  harrowing  experiences  I  had 

48 


Doubts  and  Queries, 


49 


just  been  through.  A  sense  of  rising  courage 
and  renewed  power  rewarded  me  ;  and  blessing 
the  Providence  that  had  granted  us  a  morning 
of  sunshine  after  a  night  of  so  much  horror,  I 
sat  down  and  drew  from  my  breast  the  little 
folded  paper  which  represented  my  poor  Ada's 
will.  Opening  it  with  all  the  reverent  love 
which  I  felt  for  her  memory,  I  set  myself  to 
decipher  the  few  trembling  lines  which  she  had 
written,  in  the  hope  they  would  steady  my 
thoughts  and  suggest,  if  not  reveal,  the  way  I 
should  take  in  the  more  than  difficult  path  I 
saw  stretching  before  me. 

My  agitation  may  be  conceived  when  I  read 
the  following :  -  -^^ 

"  It  is  my  last  wish  that  all  my  personal  effects,  together 
with  the  sum  of  five  hundred  dollars,  now  credited  to  my 

name  in  the  First  National  Bank  of  S ,  should  be 

given  to  my  friend,  Constance  Sterling,  who  I  hope  will 
not  forget  the  promise  I  exacted  from  her." 

Five  hundred  dollars  !  and  yesterday  I  had 
nothing.     Ah,  yes,  I  had  a  friend ! 

The  thoughts  awakened  by  this  touching 
memorial  from  the  innocent  dead  distracted 
me  for  a  few  moments  from  further  considera- 
tion of  present  difficulties,  but  soon  the  very 


(■ 


■4 


'      It* 

ll 


I 


■I  I'; ! 


»i 


);l   1 


I 


50 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery, 


nature  of  the  bequest  recalled  them  to  my 
mind,  by  that  allusion  to  a  promise  which  more 
than  any  thing  else  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the 
dilemma  in  which  I  found  myself.  For,  humili- 
ating as  it  is  to  confess,  the  persistency  with 
which  certain  impressions  remained  in  my 
mind,  in  spite  of  the  glowing  daylight  that  now 
surrounded  me,  warned  me  that  it  would  be 
for  my  peace  to  leave  this  house  before  my 
presentiments  became  fearful  realities  ;  while 
on  the  other  hand  my  promise  to  Ada  seemed 
to  constrain  me  to  remain  in  it  till  I  had  at 
least  solved  some  of  those  mysteries  of  emo- 
tion which  connected  one  and  all  of  this  family 
so  intimately  with  the  cause  to  which  I  had 
pledged  myself. 

"If  the  general  verdict  in  regard  to  Mr. 
Barrows'  death  should  be  one  of  suicide," 
thought  I,  "  how  could  I  reconcile  myself  to 
the  fact  that  I  fled  at  the  first  approaching  in- 
timation that  all  was  not  as  simple  in  his  rela- 
tions as  was  supposed,  and  that  somewhere, 
somehow,  in  the  breast  of  certain  parishioners 
of  his,  a  secret  lay  hidden,  which,  if  known, 
would  explain  the  act  which  otherwise  must  im- 
print an  ineffaceable  stain  upon  his  memory  ?  " 


Doubts  and  Queries, 


5^ 


My  heart  and  brain  were  still  busy  with  this 
question  when  the  sound  of  Mr.  Pollard's  foot- 
steps passing  my  door  recalled  me  to  a  sense 
of  my  present  duty.  Rising,  I  hurried  across  ' 
the  hall  to  the  sick-chamber,  and  was  just 
upon  the  point  of  entering,  when  the  doctor 
appeared  before  me,  and  seeing  me,  motioned 
me  back,  saying : 

"  Mrs.  Harrington  has  just  arrived.  As  she 
will  doubtless  wish  to  see  her  mother  at  once, 
you  had  better  wait  a  few  moments  till  the 
first  agitation  is  over." 

Glad  of  any  respite,  and  particularly  glad  to 
escape  an  introduction  to  Mrs.  Harrington  at 
this  time,  I  slipped  hastily  away,  but  had  not 
succeeded  in  reaching  my  room  before  the  two 
brothers  and  their  sister  appeared  at  the  top  of 
the  stairs.  I  had  thus  a  full  opportunity  of 
observing  them,  and  being  naturally  quick  to 
gather  impressions,  took  in  with  a  glance  the 
one  member  of  the  Pollard  family  who  was 
likely  to  have  no  mystery  about  her. 

I  found  her  pretty  ;  prettier,  perhaps,  than 
any  woman  it  had  ever  been  my  lot  to  meet 
before,  but  with  a  doll's  prettiness  that  bespoke 
but  little  dignity  or  force  of  mind.      Dressed 


!    ■ 


i 


111    :: 


52 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


with  faultless  taste  and  with  an  attention  to 
detail  that  at  a  moment  like  the  present  struck 
one  with  a  sense  of  painful  incongruity,  she 
advanced,  a  breathing  image  of  fashion  and 
perhaps  folly  ;  her  rustling  robes,  and  fresh,  if 
troubled  face,  offering  a  mosi  striking  contrast 
to  the  gloom  and  reserve  of  the  two  sombre 
figures  that  walked  at  her  side. 

Knowing  as  by  instinct  that  nothing  but 
humiliation  would  follow  any  obtrusion  of  my- 
self upon  this  petted  darling  of  fortune,  I  with- 
drew as  much  as  possible  into  the  shadow, 
receiving  for  ray  reward  a  short  look  from  both 
the  brothers  ;  the  one  politely  deprecating  in 
its  saturnine  courtesy,  the  other  full  of  a  bitter 
demand  for  what  I  in  my  selfish  egotism  was 
fain  to  consider  sympathy.  The  last  look  did 
not  tend  to  calm  my  already  disturbed  thoughts, 
and,  anxious  to  efface  its  impression,  I  impul- 
sively descended  the  stairs  and  strolled  out  on 
the  lawn,  asking  myself  what  was  meant  by 
the  difference  in  manner  which  I  had  discerned 
in  these  two  brothers  towards  their  sister.  For 
while  the  whole  bearing  of  the  younger  had 
expressed  interest  in  this  pretty,  careless 
butterfly  of  a  woman  thus  brought  suddenly 


Doubts  and  Queries. 


:ion  to 
struck 
ty,  she 
)n  and 
•esh,  if 
Dntrast 
;ombr^ 

ig   but 

of  my- 

I  with- 

ladow, 

n  both 

ing  in 

bitter 

n  was 

k  did 

:hts, 

mpul- 

ut  on 

nt  by 

erned 

For 

'  had 

•eless 

lenly 


I 


face  to  face  with  a  grave  trouble,  the  elder  had 
only  averted  looks  to  offer,  and  an  arm  that 
seemed  to  shrink  at  her  touch  as  if  the  weight 
of  her  light  hand  on  his  was  almost  more  than 
he  could  bear.  Could  it  be  that  affection  and 
generosity  were  on  the  side  of  the  younger 
after  all,  and  that  in  this  respect,  at  least,  he 
was  the  truer  man  and  luore  considerate 
brother? 

I  could  find  no  more  satisfactory  answer  for 
this  question  than  for  the  many  others  that 
had  suggested  themselves  since  I  had  been  in 
this  house  ;  and  being  determined  not  to  allow 
myself  to  fall  into  a  reverie  which  at  this  mo- 
ment might  be  dangerous,  I  gave  up  consider- 
ation of  all  kinds,  and  yielded  myself  wholly  to 
the  pleasure  of  my  ramble.  And  it  was  a 
pleasure  !  For  however  solemn  and  austere 
might  be  the  interior  of  the  Pollard  mansion, 
without  here  on  the  lawn  all  was  cheeriness, 
bloom,  and  verdure ;  the  grim  row  of  cedars 
encircling  the  house  seeming  to  act  as  a  barrier 
beyond  which  its  gloom  and  secrecy  could  not 
pass.  At  all  events  such  was  the  impression 
given  to  my  excited  fancy  at  the  time,  and, 
filled  with  the  sense  of  freedom   which  this 


»  t 


f: 


1   <''    lij 


54 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


momentary  escape  from  the  house  and  its  in- 
fluences had  caused,  I  hastened  to  enjoy  the 
beputies  of  walk  and  parterre,  stopping  only 
wL'  n  some  fairer  blossom  than  ordinary  lured 
me  from  my  path  to  inspect  its  loveliness  or 
inhale  its  perfume. 

The  grounds  were  not  large,  though,  situated 
as  they  were  in  the  midst  of  a  thickly  popu- 
lated district,  they  appeared  so.  It  did  not, 
therefore,  take  me  long  to  exhaust  their  at- 
tractions, and  I  was  about  to  return  upon  my 
course,  when  I  espied  a  little  summer-house 
before  me,  thickly  shrouded  in  vines.  Think- 
ing what  a  charming  retreat  it  offered,  I  stepped 
forward  to  observe  it  more  closely,  when  to 
my  great  surprise  I  saw  it  was  already  occu- 
pied, and  by  a  person  whose  attitude  and 
appearance  were  such  as  to  at  once  arouse  my 
strongest  curiosity.  This  person  was  a  boy, 
slight  of  build,  and  fantastic  in  his  dress,  with 
a  face  like  sculptured  marble,  and  an  eye  which, 
if  a  little  contracted,  had  a  strange  glitter  in  it 
that  made  you  look  and  look  again.  He  was 
kneeling  on  the  floor  of  the  summer-house, 
and  his  face,  seen  by  me  in  profile,  was  turned 
with  the  fixedness  of  an  extreme  absorption 


Doubts  and  Queries, 


55 


towards  a  small  opening  in  the  vines,  through 
which  he  was  intently  peering.  What  he  saw 
or  wished  to  see  I  could  not  imagine,  for 
nothing  but  the  blank  end  of  the  house  lay  be- 
fore him,  and  there  could  be  very  little  which 
was  interesting  in  that,  for  not  one  of  its  win- 
dows were  open,  unless  you  except  the  solitary 
one  in  my  room.  His  expression,  however, 
showed  that  he  was  engaged  in  watching 
something,  and  by  the  corrugation  in  his  white 
brow  and  the  peculiar  compression  of  his  fresh 
red  lip,  that  something  showed  itself  to  be  of 
great  importance  to  him  ;  a  fact  striking  enough 
in  itself  if  you  consider  the  earliness  of  the 
hour  and  the  apparent  immaturity  of  his  age, 
which  did  not  appear  to  be  more  than  four- 
teen. 

Resolved  to  solve  this  simple  mystery,  I 
gave  an  admonitory  cough,  and  stepped  into 
the  summer-house.  He  at  once  started  to  his 
feet,  and  faced  me  with  a  look  I  am  pondering 
upon  yet,  there  was  so  much  in  it  that  was 
wrathful,  curious,  dismayed,  and  defiant.  The 
next  moment  a  veil  seemed  to  fall  over  his 
vision,  the  rich  red  lip  relaxed  from  its  expres- 
sive curve,  and  from  being  one  of  the  most 


if 


I 


i: 


ii      II- 


>•    II  ii 


.<  .     !li 


fit     ill 


56 


Tke  Mill  Mystery, 


startling  visions  I  ever  saw,  he  became — wliat  ? 
It  would  be  hard  to  tell,  only  not  a  fully  re- 
sponsible being,  I  am  sure,  however  near  he 
had  just  strayed  to  the  border-land  of  judg- 
ment and  good  sense. 

Relieved,  I  scarcely  knew  why,  and  remem- 
bering almost  at  the  same  instant  some  passing 
gossip  I  had  once  heard  about  the  pretty  im- 
becile boy  that  ran  the  streets  of   S ,  I 

gave  him  a  cheerful  smile,  and  was  about  to 
bestow  some  encouraging  word  upon  him, 
when  he  suddenly  broke  into  a  laugh,  and 
looking  at  me  with  a  meaningless  stare,  asked  : 

''  Who  are  you  ?" 

I  was  willing  enough  to  answer,  so  I  re- 
turned :  "  I  am  Constance  Sterling  "  ;  and  al- 
most immediately  added  :  **  And  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  cat  that  mews  in  the  well."  Then 
suddenly,  **  Do  you  live  here  ?" 

'*  No,"  I  replied,  **  I  am  only  staying  here. 
Mrs.  Pollard  is  sick " 

'*  Do  they  like  you  ?  " 

The  interruption  was  quick,  like  all  his 
speech,  and  caused  me  a  curious  sensation. 
But  I  conquered  it  with  a  laugh,  and  cheerily 
replied  : 


Doubts  and  Queries, 


57 


-what  ? 
ully  re- 
ear  he 
f  judg. 


emem- 
)assing 
tty  im- 

— ,  I 

out  to 
1   him, 

h,  and  ' 
asked  : 

I  re- 
md  al- 
sfow  ?  "  ' 

Then 

here. 


11  his 
Ltion. 
lerily 


1 


ii 


"  As  I  only  came  last  night,  it  would  be 
hard  to  say  " — and  was  going  to  add  more, 
when  the  curious  being  broke  out : 

"  She  only  came  last  night ! "  and,  repeat- 
ing the  phrase  again  and  again,  suddenly  dart- 
ed from  my  side  on  to  the  lawn,  where  he  stood 
for  an  instant,  murmuring  and  laughing  to 
himself  before  speeding  away  through  the 
shrubbery  that  led  to  the  gate. 

This  incident,  trivial  as  it  seemed,  made  a 
vivid  impression  upon  me,  and  it  was  with  a 
mind  really  calmed  from  its  past  agitation  that 
I  re-entered  the  house  and  took  up  my  watch 
in  the  sick-room.  I  found  every  thing  as  I 
had  left  it  an  hour  or  so  before,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  my  companion  ;  the  younger  Mr. 
Pollard  having  taken  the  place  of  his  brother. 
Mrs.  Harrington  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  but 
as  breakfast  had  been  announced  I  did  not 
wonder  at  this,  nor  at  the  absence  of  the  elder 
son,  who  was  doubtless  engaged  in  doing  the 
honors  of  the  house. 

My  own  call  to  breakfast  came  sooner  than 
I  anticipated ;  soon  enough,  indeed,  for  me  to 
expect  to  find  Mr.  Pollard  and  his  sister  still 
at  the  table.     It  therefore  took  some  courage 


I  \ 


m 


t 


k^t 


'I  i^ 


ii 


58 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


for  me  to  respond  to  the  summons,  especially 
as  I  had  to  go  alone,  my  companion,  of  course, 
refusing  to  leave  his  mother.  But  a  glance  in 
the  hall-mirror,  as  I  went  by,  encouraged  me^ 
for  it  was  no  weak  woman's  face  I  encoun- 
tered, and  if  Mrs.  Harrington  was  as  beautiful 
as  she  was  haughty,  and  as  haughty  as  she 
was  beautiful,  Constance  Sterling  at  least  asked 
no  favors  and  showed  no  embarrassment.  In- 
deed, I  had  never  felt  more  myself  than  when 
I  lifted  the  portiere  from  before  the  dining- 
room  dooi  and  stepped  in  under  the  gaze  of 
these  two  contradictory  beings,  either  of  which 
exerted  an  influence  calculated  to  overawe  a 

person  in  my  position.     The  past But 

what  have  I  promised  myself  and  you  ?  Not 
the  past,  then,  but  my  present  will  and  deter- 
mination made  the  ordeal  easy. 

Mr.  Pollard,  who  is  certainly  a  man  to  at- 
tract any  woman's  eye,  rose  gravely  as  I  ap- 
proached, and  presented  me,  with  what  struck 
me  as  a  somewhat  emphasized  respect,  to  his 
sister.  Her  greeting  w^as  nothing  more  nor 
less  than  what  I  expected — that  is,  indifler- 
ently  civil, — though  I  thought  I  detected  a  lit- 
tle glimmer  of  curiosity  in  the  corner  of  her 


"'ki 


Doubts  and  Queries, 


59 


eye,  as  if  some  words  had  passed  in  regard  to 
me  that  made  her  anxious  to  know  what  sort 
of  a  woman  I  was. 

But  my  faculty  for  observation  was  very 
wide-awake  that  morning,  and  I  may  have 
imagined  this,  especially  as  she  did  not  look  at 
me  again  till  she  had  finished  her  breakfast  and 
rose  to  quit  the  room.  Then,  indeed,  she 
threw  me  a  hurried  glance,  half  searching,  half 
doubtful  in  its  character,  as  if  she  hesitated 
whether  she  ought  to  leave  us  alone  together. 
Instantly  a  wild  thrill  passed  through  me,  and 
I  came  perilously  near  blushing.  But  the 
momentary  emotion,  if  emotion  it  could  be 
called,  was  soon  lost  in  the  deeper  feeling 
which  ensued  when  Mrs.  Harrington,  pausing 
at  the  door,  observed,  with  a  forced  lightness  : 

"  By-the-way,  where  is  Mr.  Barrows  ?  I 
thought  he  was  always  on  hand  in  time  of 
trouble." 

I  looked  at  her ;  somehow,  I  dared  not  look 
at  her  brother ;  and,  while  making  to  myself 
such  trivial  observations  as,  "  She  has  not  been 
told  the  truth,"  and,  "  They  took  good  care 
she  should  overhear  no  gossip  at  the  station," 
I  was  inwardly  agitating  myself  with  the  new 


ic- 


6o 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


>  I  h, 


c. 


'si 


I     ' 


l\ 


\       ■':! 


thought,  "  Can  i*^^  have  had  any  thing  to  do 
with  Mr.  Barrows?  Can  she  be  the  woman 
he  was  engaged  to  before  he  fell  in  love  with 
Ada  ?  " 

The  expression  of  her  face,  turned  though 
it  was  full  upon  us,  told  nothing,  and  my  at- 
tention, though  not  my  glances,  passed  to  Mr. 
Pollard,  who,  motionless  in  his  place,  hesi- 
tated what  reply  to  give  to  this  simple  ques- 
tion. • 

"  Guy  has  not  told  you,  then,"  said  he, 
"what  caused  the  shock  that  has  prostrated 
our  mother?" 

"  No,"  she  returned,  coming  quickly  back. 

"It  was  the  news  of  Mr.  Barrows'  death, 
Agnes ;  the  servants  say  so,  and  the  servants 
ought  to  know." 

"Mr.  Barrows*  death !  Is  Mr.  Barrows 
dead,  then  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  tone  of  simple 
wonder,  which  convinced  me  that  my  surmise 
of  a  moment  ago  was  without  any  foundation. 
"  I  did  not  know  he  was  sick,"  she  went  on. 
"  Was  his  death  sudden,  that  it  should  affect 
mother  so  ?  " 

A  short  nod  was  all  her  brother  seemed  to 
be  able  to  give  to  this  question.     At  sight  of 


Doubts  and  Queries, 


6i 


it  I  felt  the  cold  chills  run  through  my  veins, 
and  wished  that  fate  had  not  obliged  me  to  be 
present  at  this  conversation. 

"  How  did  Mr.  Barrows  die  ?  "  queried  Mrs. 
Harrington,  aftei  waiting  in  manifest  surprise 
and  impatience  for  her  brother  to  speak. 

'*  He  was  drowned." 

"  Drowned  ?" 

"Yes."  . 

"When?"  I 

"Yesterday."  - 

"Where?" 

This  time  the  answer  was  not  forthcoming. 
Was  it  because  he  knew  the  place  too  Wv^U  ?  I 
dared  not  lift  my  eyes  to  see. 

"  Was  it  in  the  mill-stream  ?  "  she  asked. 

This  time  he  uttered  a  hollow  "No."  Then, 
as  if  he  felt  himself  too  weak  to  submit  to  this 
cross-questioning,  he  pushed  back  his  chair, 
and,  hurriedly  rising,  said  : 

"It  is  a  very  shocking  affair,  Agnes.  Mr. 
Barrows  was  found  in  a  vat  in  the  cellar  of  the 
old  mill.  He  drowned  himself.  No  one  knows 
his  motive." 

"  Drowned  himself?  "  Did  she  speak  or  I  ? 
I  saw  her  lips  move,  and  I  heard  the  words 


62 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


}\ 


\         v* 


\ 


% 


I  'i 


uttered  as  I  thought  in  her  voice  ;  but  it  was 
to  me  he  directed  his  look,  and  to  me  he 
seemed  to  reply  : 

'*  Yes ;  how  else  account  for  the  circum- 
stances ?  Is  he  a  man  to  have  enemies  ? — or 
is  that  a  place  a  man  would  be  likely  to  seek 
for  pleasure  ?" 

**  But "  the  trembling  little  woman  at  my 

side  began. 

"  I  say  it  is  a  suicide,"  he  broke  in,  im- 
periously, giving  his  sister  one  look,  and  then 
settling  his  eyes  bark  again  upon  my  face. 
"  No  other  explanation  fits  the  case,  and  no 
other  explanation  will  ever  be  given.  Why  he 
should  have  committed  such  a  deed,"  he  went 
on,  in  a  changed  voice,  and  after  a  momentary 
pause,  "  it  would  be  impossible  for  me,  and 
perhaps  for  any  other  man,  to  say  ;  but'  that 
he  did  do  it  is  evident,  and  that  is  all  I  mean 
to  assert.  The  rest  I  leave  for  wiser  heads 
than  mine."  And  turning  from  me  with  an 
indescribable  look  that  to  my  reason,  if  not  tq 
my  head,  seemed  to  belie  his  words,  he  offered 
his  arm  to  his  bewildered  sister  and  quietly  led 
her  towards  the  door. 

The  breath  of  relief  I  gave  as  the  portiere; 


Doubts  a7td  Queries. 


63 


closed  behind  them  was,  however,  premature, 
for  scarcely  had  he  seen  her  on  her  way  up- 
stairs than  he  came  back,  and  taking  his  stand 
directly  before  me,  said :  -  • 

''  You  and  I  do  not  agree  on  this  question  ; 
I  see  it  in  your  eyes.  Now  what  explanation 
do  you  give  of  Mr.  Barrows'  death  ?" 

The  suddenness  of  the  attack  brought  the 
blood  to  my  cheeks,  while  the  necessity  of 
answering  drove  it  as  quickly  away.  He  saw 
I  was  agitated,  and  a  slight  tremble — it  could 
not  be  called  a  smile — disturbed  the  set  contour 
of  his  lips.  The  sight  of  it  gave  me  courage. 
I  let  my  own  curl  as  I  replied  : 

"  You  do  me  too  much  honor  to  ask  my 
opinion.  But  since  you  wish  to  know  what  I 
think,  I  consider  it  only  justice  to  say  that  it 
would  be  easier  for  an  unprejudiced  mind  to 
believe  that  Mr.  Barrows  had  a  secret  enemy, 
or  that  his  death  was  owing  to  some  peculiar 
and  perhaps  unexplainable  accident,  than  that 
he  should  seek  It  himself,  having,  as  he  did, 
every  reason  for  living."  ^,\  - 

''  He  was  very  happy,  then  ?"  murmured  my 
companion,  looking  for  an  instant  away,  as  if 
he  could  not  bear  the  Intensity  of  my  gaze. 


64 


The  Mill  Mystery.    ' 


"  He  loved  deeply  a  noble  woman  ;  they 
were  to  have  been  married  in  a  month  ;  does 
that  look  like  happiness  ?  "  I  asked. 

The  roving  eye  came  back,  fixed  itself  upon 
me,  and  turned  dangerously  dark  and  deep. 

"It  looks  like  it,"  he  emphasized,  and  a 
strange  smile  passed  over  his  lips,  the  utter 
melancholy  of  which  was  all  that  was  plain 
to  me. 

"■  And  it  was  f'  I  persisted,  determined  not 
to  yield  an  iota  of  my  convictions  to  the  per- 
suasiveness of  this  man.  **  The  woman  who 
knew  him  best  declared  it  to  be  so  as  she  was 
dying  ;  and  I  am  forced  to  trust  in  her  judg- 
ment, whatever  the  opinion  of  others  may  be." 

"  But  happy  men "  he  began. 

"  Sometimes  meet  with  accidents,"  I  com- 
pleted. 

''  And  your  credulity  is  sufficient  to  allow 
you  to  consider  Mr.  Barrows'  death  as  the  re- 
sult of  accident  ? " 

Lightly  as  the  question  was  put,  I  felt  that 
nothing  but  a  deep  anxiety  had  prompted  it, 
else  why  that  earnest  gaze  from  which  my  own 
could  not  falter,  or  that  white  line  showing 
about  the  lip  he  essayed  in  vain  to  steady  ? 


Doubts  and  Queries, 


65 


I 


Recoiling  inwardly,  though  I  scarcely  knew 
why,  I  forced  myself  to  answer  with  the  calm- 
ness of  an  inquisitor : 

"  My  credulity  is  not  sufficient  for  me  to 
commit  myself  to  that  belief.  If  investigation 
should  show  that    Mr.    Barrows   had   an  en- 


emy   • 

**  Mr.  Barrows  had  no  enemy  !  "  flashed  from 
Mr.  Pollard's  lips.  "  I  mean,"  he  explained, 
with  instant  composure,  **  that  he  was  not  a 
man  to  awaken  jealousy  or  antagonism  ;  that, 
according  to  all  accounts,  he  had  the  blessing, 
and  not  the  cursing,  of  each  man  in  the  com- 
munity." 

"  Yes,"  I  essayed. 

**  He  never  came  to  his  death  through  the 
instrumentality  of  another  person,"  broke  in 
Mr.  Pollard,  with  a  stern  insistence.  "  He  fell 
into  the  vat  intentionally  or  unintentionally, 
but  no  man  put  him  there.  Do  you  believe 
me,  Miss  Sterling  ?  " 

Did  I  believe  him  ?  Was  he  upon  trial, 
then,  and  was  he  willing  I  should  see  he  un- 
derstood it  ?  No,  no,  that  could  not  be  ;  yet 
why  asseverate  so  emphatically  a  fact  of  which 
no  man  could  be  sure  unless  he  had  been  pres- 


1 1 


J 


66 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


V 


\ 


Jli  i 


t 


Pi  ^• 


W  n 


ent  at  the  scene  of  death,  or  at  least  known 
more  of  the  circumstances  attending  it  than 
was  compatible  with  the  perfect  ignorance 
which  all  men  professed  to  have  of  them.  Did 
he  not  see  that  such  words  were  calculated  to 
awaken  suspicion,  and  that  it  would  be  harder, 
after  such  a  question,  to  believe  he  spoke  from 
simple  conviction,  than  from  a  desire  to  lead 
captive  the  will  of  a  w^oman  whose  intuitions, 
his  troubled  conscience  told  him,  were  to  be 
feared  ?  Rising,  as  an  intimation  thai:  the 
conversation  was  fast  becoming  insupportable 
to  me,  I  confronted  him  with  my  proudest 
look. 

''  You  must  'i.xcuse  me,"  said  I,  "  if  I  do  not 
linger  to  discuss  a  matter  whose  consequences 
just  now  are  more  important  to  us  than  the 
fact  itself.  While  your  mother  lies  insensible 
I  cannot  rest  comfortable  away  from  her  side. 
You  will  therefore  allow  me  to  return  to  her." 

*'  In  a  moment,"  he  replied.  **  There  are 
one  or  two  questions  it  would  please  me  to 
have  3^ou  answer  first."  And  his  manner  took 
on  a  charm  that  robbed  his  words  of  all  per- 
emptoriness,  and  made  it  difficult,  if  not  im- 
possible, for  me  to  move.     *'  You  have  spoken 


1^1  il  ^ 


Doubts  and  Queries, 


67 


>> 


of  Miss  Reynolds,"  he  resumed  ;  '*  have  told 
me  that  she  declared  upon  her  dying  bed  that 
the  relations  between  Mr.  Batiows  and  herself 
were  very  happy.  Were  you  with  her  then  ? 
Did  you  know  her  well  ?  " 

"  She  was  my  room-mate,"  I  returned. 

It  was  a  blow  ;  I  saw  it,  though  not  a  mus- 
cle of  his  face  quivered.  He  had  not  expected 
to  hear  that  I  was  upon  terms  of  intimacy  with 
her. 

"  I  loved  her,"  I  went  on,  with  a  sense  of 
cruel  pleasure  that  must  have  sprung  from  the 
inward  necessity  I  felt  to  struggle  with  this 
strong  nature.  **  The  proof  that  she  loved  me 
lies  in  the  fact  that  she  has  made  me  heir  to 
all  her  little  savings.  We  were  friends,"  I 
added,  seeing  he  was  not  yet  under  sufficient 
control  to  speak. 

**  I  see,"  he  now  said,  moving  involuntarily 
between  me  and  the  door.  "  And  by  friends 
you  mean  confidantes,  I  presume?" 

"  Perhaps,"  I  answered,  coolly,  dropping  my 
eyes.  ^  . 

His  voice  took  a  deeper  tone  ;  it  was  steel 
meeting  steel,  he  savv.  »^ 

"And  she  told  you  Mr.  Barrows  was 
happy  ?  " 


68 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


1'  lii 


"  That  has  been  already  discussed,"  said  I. 

'*  Miss  Sterling " — I  think  I  never  heard 
such  music  in  a  human  voice — "  you  think  me 
inquisitive,  presuming,  ungentlemanly,  persist- 
ent, perhaps.  But  I  have  a  great  wish  to  know 
the  truth  about  this  matter,  if  only  to  secure 
myself  from  forming  false  impressions  and 
wTongfully  influencing  others  by  them.  Bear 
with  me,  then,  strangers  though  we  are,  and  if 
you  feel  you  can  trust  me " — here  he  forced 
me  to  look  at  him, — *'  let  me  hear,  I  pray,  what 
reasons  you  have  for  declaring  so  emphatically 
that  Mr.  Barrows  did  not  commit  suicide  ?  " 

"  My  reasons,  Mr.  Pollard  ?  Have  I  not 
already  given  them  to  you  ?  Is  it  necessary 
for  me  to  repeat  them  ?  " 

**  No,"  he  earnestly  rejoined,  charming  me, 
whether  I  would  or  not,  by  the  subtle  homage 
he  infused  into  his  look,  "  if  you  will  assure 
me  that  you  have  no  others — that  the  ones  you 
have  given  form  the  sole  foundation  for  your 
conclusions.  Will  you  ?  "  he  entreated  ;  and 
while  his  eyes  demanded  the  truth,  his  lip  took 
a  curve  which  it  would  have  been  better  for 
me  not  to  have  seen  if  I  wished  to  preserve 
unmoved  my  position  as  grand  inquisitor. 


Doubts  and  Queries. 


ige 


nd 
ok 


69 


I  was  compelled,  or  so  it  seemed  to  me,  to 
answer  without  reserve.  I  therefore  returned 
a  quiet  affirmative,  adding  only  in  qualification 
of  the  avowal,  **  What  other  reasons  were 
necessary  ?  " 

"  None,  none,"  was  the  quick  reply,  "  for 
you  to  believe  as  you  do.  A  woman  but 
proves  her  claim  to  our  respect  when  she  at- 
taches such  significance  to  the  master-passion 
as  to  make  it  the  argument  of  a  perfect  hap- 
piness." 

I  do  not  think  he  spoke  in  sarcasm,  though 
to  most  minds  it  might  appear  so.  I  think  he 
spoke  in  relief,  a  joyous  relief,  that  was  less 
acceptable  to  me  at  that  moment  than  the  sar- 
casm would  have  been.  I  therefore  did  not 
blush,  but  rather  grew  pale,  as  with  a  bow 
I  acknowledged  his  words,  and  took  my  first 
step  towards  the  doorway. 

"  I  have  wounded  you,"  he  munnured,  soft- 
ly, following  me. 

"You  do  not  know  me  well  enough,"  I  an- 
swered, turning  with  a  sense  of  victory  in  the  - 
midst  of  my  partial  defeat. 

**  It  is  a  misfortune  that  can  be  remedied," 
he  smiled. 


tmgmgmgmmKx. 


70 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


#(» 


"Your  brother  waits  for  us,"  I  suggested, 
and,  lifting  the  portiere  out  of  his  hand,  I 
passed  through,  steady  as  a  dart,  but  quaking, 
oh,  how  fearfully  quaking  within  !  for  this  in- 
terview had  not  only  confirmed  me  in  my  be- 
lief that  something  dark  and  unknown  con- 
nected the  life  of  this  household  with  that 
which  had  suddenly  go  '*  out  In  the  vat  at  the 
old  mill,  but  deepened  i  ^hti  than  effaced  the 
fatal  charm  which,  contrary  to  every  instinct 
of  my  nature,  held  me  in  a  bondage  that  more 
than  all  things  else  must  make  any  investiga- 
tion into  this  mystery  a  danger  and  a  pain 
from  which  any  woman  might  well  recoil,  even 
though  she  bore  in  her  heart  memories  of  a 
past  like  mine.  ^ 


f 


VI. 

MRS.  POLLARD. 

My  mind  she  has  mated,  and  amazed  my  sight ; 
I  think  but  dare  not  speak. 

— Mac   .th. 

THAT  day  was  a  marked  one  in  ii  y  llle. 
It  was  not  only  the  longest  I  have  ever 
known,  but  it  was  by  far  the  drearies'  and,  if 
I  may  use  the  word  in  this  connection,  the 
most  unearthly.  Indeed,  I  cannot  think  of  it 
to  this  day  without  a  shudder  ;  its  effect  being 
much  the  same  upon  my  memory  as  that  of  a 
vigil  in  some  underground  tomb,  where  each 
moment  was  emphasized  with  horror  lest  the 
dead  lying  before  me  might  stir  beneath  their 
cerements  and  wake.  The  continual  presence 
of  one  or  both  of  the  brothers  at  my  side  did 
not  tend  to  alleviate  the  dread  which  the  si- 
lence, the  constant  suspense,  the  cold  gloom 
of  the  ever  dimly-lighted  chamber  were  calcu- 
lated to  arouse  ;  for  the  atmosphere  of  unre- 

71 


i    <1 


ii 


72 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery, 


ality  and  gloom  was  upon  them  too,  and,  saving 
the  quick,  short  sigh  that  escaped  from  their 
lips  now  and  then,  neither  of  them  spoke  nor 
relaxed  for  an  instant  from  that  strain  of  pain- 
ful attention  which  had  for  its  focus  their 
mother's  stony  face.  Mrs.  Harrington,  who, 
in  her  youthful  freshness  and  dimpled  beauty, 
might  have  relieved  the  universal  sombreness 
of  the  scene,  was  not  in  the  room  all  day  ;  but 
whether  this  was  on  account  of  her  inability  to 
confront  sickness  and  trouble,  or  whether  it 
was  the  result  of  the  wishes  of  her  brothers,  I 
have  never  been  able  to  decide  ;  probably  the 
latter,  for,  though  she  was  a  woman  of  a  frivo- 
lous mind,  she  had  a  due  sense  of  the  proprie- 
ties, and  was  never  known  to  violate  them 
except  under  the  stress  of  another  will  more 
powerful  than  her  own. 

At  last,  as  the  day  waned,  and  what  light 
there  was  gradually  vanished  from  the  shadowy 
chamber,  Guy  made  a  movement  of  discour- 
agement, and,  rising  from  his  place,  approached 
his  brother,  dropped  a  word  in  his  ear,  and 
quietly  left  the  room.  The  relief  I  felt  was 
instantaneous.  It  was  like  having  one  coil  of 
an    oppressive   nightmare    released    from   my 


Mrs.  Pollard, 


73 


Lir- 

ed 

nd 

i^as 


breast.  Dwight,  on  the  contrary,  who  had  sat 
like  a  statue  ever  since  the  room  began  to 
darken,  showed  no  evidence  of  being  influ- 
enced by  this  change,  and,  convinced  that  any 
movement  towards  a  more  cheerful  order  of 
things  must  come  from  me,  I  rose,  and,  with- 
out consulting  his  wishes,  dropped  the  curtains 
and  lighted  the  lamp.  The  instant  I  had  done 
so  I  saw  why  he  was  so  silent  and  immovable. 
Overcome  by  fatigue,  and  possibly  by  a  long 
strain  of  suppressed  emotion,  he  had  fallen 
asleep,  and,  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  Guy  had 
left  the  room,  slumbered  as  peacefully  as  if  no 
break  had  occurred  in  the  mysterious  watch 
they  had  hitherto  so  uninterruptedly  main- 
tained over  their  mother  and  me.  >< 
The  peacefulness  of  his  sleeping  face  made 
a  deep  impression  upon  me.  Though  I  knew 
that  with  his  waking  the  old  look  would  come 
back,  it  was  an  indescribable  pleasure  to  me  to 
see  him,  if  but  for  an  instant,  free  from  that 
shadowy  something  which  dropped  a  vail  of 
mistrust  between  us.  It  seemed  to  show  me 
that  evil  was  not  Innate  in  this  man,  and  ex- 
plained, If  it  did  not  justify,  the  weakness 
which  had  made  me  more  lenient  to  what  was 


74 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


I  i 


ji.i 


doubtful  in  his  appearance  and  character  than 
I  had  been  to  that  of  his  equally  courteous  but 
less  attractive  brother. 

The  glances  I  allowed  myself  to  cast  in  his 
direction  were  fleeting  enough,  however.  Even 
if  womanly  delicacy  had  not  forbidden  me  to 
look  too  often  and  too  long  that  way,  the 
sense  of  the  unfair  advantage  I  was  possibly 
taking  of  his  weakness  made  the  possibility  of 
encountering  his  waking  eye  a  matter  of  some 
apprehension.  I  knew  that  honor  demanded 
I  should  rouse  him,  that  he  would  not  thank 
me  for  letting  him  sleep  after  his  brother  had 
left  the  room  ;  and  yet,  whether  from  too  much 
heart — he  was  in  such  sore  need  of  rest — or 
from  too  little  conscience — I  was  in  such  sore 
need  of  knowledge — I  let  him  slumber  on,  and 
never  made  so  much  as  a  move  after  my  first 
startled  discovery  of  his  condition. 

And  so  five  minutes,  ten  minutes,  went  by, 
and,  imperceptibly  to  myself,  the  softening  in- 
fluence which  his  sleeping  countenance  exerted 
upon  me  deepened  and  strengthened  till  I  be- 
gan to  ask  if  I  had  not  given  too  much  scope 
to  my  imagination  since  I  had  been  in  this 
house,  and  foolishly  attributed  a  meaning  to 


Mrs.  Pollard, 


75 


by, 
in- 
ted 
be- 
3pe 
his 
to 


expressions  and  events  that  in  my  calmer  mo- 
ments would  show  themselves  to  possess  no 
special  significance. 

The  probability  was  that  I  had,  and  once 
allowing  myself  to  admit  this  idea,  it  is  aston- 
ishing how  rapidly  it  gained  possession  of  my 
judgment,  altering  the  whole  tenor  of  my 
thoughts,  and  if  not  exactly  transforming  the 
situation  into  one  of  cheerfulness  and  ease,  at 
least  robbing  it  of  much  of  that  sepulchral 
character  which  had  hitherto  made  it  so  nearly 
unbearable  to  me.  The  surroundings,  too, 
seemed  to  partake  of  the  new  spirit  of  life 
which  had  seized  me.  The  room  looked  less 
shadowy,  and  lost  some  of  that  element  of 
mystery  which  had  made  its  dimly  seen  corners 
the  possible  abode  of  supernatural  visitants. 
Even  the  clock  ticked  less  lugubriously,  and 
that  expressionless  face  on  the  pillow 

Great  God  !  it  is  looking  at  me  !  With  two 
wide  open,  stony  eyes  it  is  staring  into  my 
very  soul  like  a  spirit  from  the  tomb,  awaken- 
ing there  a  hcrror  infinitely  deeper  than  any  I 
had  felt  before,  though  I  knew  it  was  but  the 
signal  of  returning  life  to  the  sufTerer,  and  that 
I  ought  to  rouse  myself  and  welcome  it  with 


««■«» 


76 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


'I 


suitable  ministrations,  instead  of  sitting  there 
like  a  statue  of  fear  in  the  presence  of  an  im- 
pending fate.  But  do  what  I  would,  say  to 
myself  what  I  would,  I  could  not  stir.  A 
nightmare  of  terror  was  upon  me,  and  not  till 
I  saw  the  stony  lips  move  and  the  face  take  a 
look  of  life  in  the  eiiort  made  to  speak,  did  I 
burst  the  spell  that  held  me  and  start  to  my 
feet.  Even  then  I  dared  not  look  around  nor 
raise  my  voice  to  warn  the  sleeper  behind  me 
that  the  moment  so  long  waited  for  had  come. 
A  power  behind  myself  seemed  to  hold  me 
silent,  waiting,  watching  for  those  words  that 
struggled  to  life  so  painfully  before  me.  At 
last  they  came,  Falling  the  room  with  echoes 
hollow  as  they  Wire  awful ! 

**  Dwight !  Guy  !  If  you  do  not  want  me  to 
haunt  )ou,  swear  you  will  never  divulge  what 
took  place  between  you  and  Mr.  Barrows  at 
the  mill." 

"  Moth'^r  I "  rang  in  horror  through  the 
room.  And  before  I  could  turn  my  head, 
Dwight  Pollard  leaped  by  me,  and  hiding  the 
face  of  the  dying  woman  on  his  breast,  turned 
on  me  a  gaze  that  was*  half  wild,  half  com- 
manding, and  said  : 


Mrs,  Pollard. 


77 


n- 


**  Go  for  my  brother  !  He  is  in  the  north- 
west room.  Tell  him  our  mother  raves." 
Then,  as  I  took  a  hurried,  though  by  no 
means  steady,  step  towards  the  door,  he 
added  :  "  I  need  not  ask  you  to  speak  to  no 
one  else  ? " 

"  No,"  my  cold  lips  essayed  to  utter,  but  an 
unmeaning  murmur  was  all  that  left  them. 
The  reaction  from  hope  and  trust  to  a  now 
really  tangible  fear  had  been  too  sudden  and 
overwhelming. 

But  by  the  time  I  had  reached  the  room  to 
which  I  had  been  directed,  I  had  regained  in  a 
measure  my  self-control.  Guy  Pollard  at  least 
should  not  see  that  I  could  be  affected  by  any 
thing  which  could  happen  in  this  house.  Yet 
when,  in  answer  to  my  summons,  he  joined  me 
in  the  hall,  I  found  it  difficult  to  preserve  the 
air  of  respectful  sympathy  I  had  assumed,  so 
searching  was  his  look,  and  so  direct  the  ques- 
tion with  which  he  met  his  brother's  message. 

'*  My  mother  raves,  you  say ;  will  you  be 
kind    enough    to    tell    me    what    her    words 


<< 


Yes,"  returned  L 


in  a  struggle  I  at  least 


scornmg 
meant 


to 


prevaricate 
should  be  an 


78 


TJte  Mill  Mystery. 


I  I 


\j  ■ 


honest  one.  **  She  called  upon  her  sons,  and 
said  that  she  would  haunt  them  if  ever  they 
divulged  what  took  place  between  them  and 
Mr.  Barrows  at  the  mill." 

'*  Ah  !  "  he  coldly  laughed  ;  *'  she  does  indeed 
rave."  And  while  I  admired  his  self-control,  I 
could  not  prevent  myself  from  experiencing  an 
increased  dread  of  this  nature  that  was  so 
ready  for  all  emergencies  and  so  panoplied 
against  all   shock.  '        ' 

I  might  have  felt  a  more  vivid  apprehension 
still,  had  I  known  what  was  passing  in  his 
mind  as  we  traversed  the  hall  back  to  the  sick- 
chamber.  But  the  instinct  which  had  warned 
me  o^  so  much,  did  not  warn  me  of  that,  and 
it  was  with  no  other  feeling  than  one  of  sur- 
prise that  I  noted  the  extreme  deference  with 
which  he  opened  his  mother's  door  for  me,  and 
waited  even  in  that  moment  of  natural  agita- 
tion and  suspense  for  me  to  pass  over  the 
threshold  before  he  presumed  to  enter  himself. 

Dwight  Pollard,  however,  did  not  seem  to  be 
so  blind,  for  a  change  passed  over  his  face  as 
he  saw  us,  and  he  half  rose  from  the  crouching 
position  he  still  held  over  his  mother's  form. 
He  subsided  back,  however,  as  I  drew  to  one 
side  and  let  Guy  pass  unheeded  to  the  bed, 


Mrs.  Pollard, 


79 


and  it  was  in  quite  a  natural  tone  he  bade  me 
seat  myself  in  the  alcove  towards  which  he 
pointed,  till  his  mother's  condition  required 
my  services. 

That  there  was  really  nothing  to  be  done  for 
her,  I  saw  myself  in  the  one  glimpse  I  caught 
of  her  face  as  he  started  up.  She  was  on  the 
verge  of  death,  and  her  last  moments  were 
certainly  due  to  her  children.  So  I  passed 
into  the  alcove,  which  was  really  a  small  room 
opening  out  of  the  large  one,  and  flinging  my- 
self on  the  lounge  I  saw  there,  asked  myself 
whether  I  ought  to  shut  the  door  between  us, 
or  whether  my  devotion  to  Ada's  cause  bade 
me  listen  to  whatever  came  directly  in  my  way 
.0  hear  ?  The  fact  that  I  was  in  a  measure 
prisoned  there,  there  being  no  other  outlet  to 
the  room  than  the  one  by  which  I  had  entered, 
determined  me  to  ignore  for  once  the  natural 
instincts  of  my  ladyhood  ;  and  pale  and  trem- 
bling to  a  degree  I  would  not  have  wished  seen 
by  either  of  these  two  mysterious  men,  I  sat  in 
a  dream  of  suspense,  hearing  and  not  hearing 
the  low  hum  of  their  voices  as  they  reasoned 
with  or  consoled  the  mother,  now  fast  drifting 
away  into  an  endless  night. 

Suddenly — shall  I  ever  forget  the  thrill  it 


'  )i 


So 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


iN 


t: 


gave  me  ? — her  voice  rose  again  in  those  tones 
whose  force  ?jlA  commanding  power  I  have 
found  i?:  impossible  to  describe. 

"  The  oath  !  the  oath  !  Dwight,  Guy,  by 
my  dying  head " 

''  Yes,  mother,"  I  heard  one  voice  interpose  ; 
and  by  the  solemn  murmur  that  followed,  I 
gathered  that  Guy  had  thought  it  best  to 
humor  her  wishes. 

The  long-drawn  sigh  which  issued  from  her 
lips  testified  to  the  relief  he  had  given  her, 
and  the  '*  Now  Dwight  !"  which  followed  was 
uttered  in  tones  more  gentle  and  assured. 

But  to  this  appeal  no  solemn  murmur  en- 
sued, for  at  that  instant  a  scream  arose  from 
the  bed,  and  to  the  sound  of  an  opeixing  door 
rang  out  the  words  : 

"  Keep  her  away  !  What  do  you  let  her 
come  in  here  for,  to  confound  me  ar  make 
me  curse  the  day  she  was  born  !  Away  !  I 
say,  away  !  " 

Horrified,  and  unable  to  restrain  the  impulse 
that  moved  me,  I  sprang  to  my  feet  and  rushed 
upon  the  scene.  The  picture  that  met  my 
eyes  glares  at  me  now  from  the  black  back- 
ground of  tii(^  past.  On  the  bed,  that  roused 
figure,  awful  with  the  shadows  of  death,  raised, 


Mrs.  Pollard. 


8i 


by 


ler 
ike. 


Ise 

ed 

|ny 

:k- 

id 


in  spite  of  the  constraininor  hands  of  her  two 
sons,  into  an  attitude  expressive  of  the  most 
intense  repulsion,  terror,  and  dread  ;  and  at  the 
door,  the  fainting  form  of  the  pretty,  dimpled, 
care-shunning  daughter,  who,  struck  to  the 
heart  by  this  poisoned  dart  from  the  hand  that 
should  have  been  lifted  in  blessing,  stood 
swaying  in  dismay,  her  wide  blue  eyes  fixed 
on  the  terrible  face  before  her,  and  her  hands 
outstretched  and  clutching  in  vague  fear  after 
some  support  that  would  sustain  her,  and  pre- 
vent her  falling  crushed  to  the  floor. 

To  bound  to  her  side,  and  lift  her  gently  out 
of  her  mother's  sight,  was  the  work  of  a  mo- 
ment. But  in  that  moment  my  eyes  had  time 
to  see  such  a  flash  of  infinite  longing  take  the 
place  of  the  fierce  passions  upon  that  mother's 
face,  that  my  heart  stood  still,  and  I  scarcely 
knew  whether  to  bear  mv  burden  from  the 
room,  or  to  rush  with  it  to  that  bedside  and 
lay  it,  in  all  its  childlike  beauty,  on  that  mad- 
dened mother's  dying  breast.  A  low,  deep 
groan  from  the  bed  decided  me.  With  that 
look  of  love  on  her  face,  otherwise  distorted 
by  every  evil  passion,  Mrs.  Pollard  had  fallen 
back  into  the  arms  of  her  two  sons,  and  quietly 
breathed  her  last. 


,yi 


V 


liill 


tl 


'!■■ 


Wt  0 


I! 


ki 


e  . 


i1: 
I.  1 

';  i 


« 


^;: 


pi' 
I'M/; 

if: 

111  :  i 


H 


VII. 

ADVANCES. 

For  ihey  are  actions  that  a  man  might  play  ; 
But  I  have  that  within  which  passeth  show. 

— Hamlet. 


a 


M'1 


S  STERLING?" 

was  sitting  by  the  side  of  Mrs. 
Harrington  In  her  own  room.  By  a  feverish 
exertion  of  strength  I  had  borne  her  thither 
from  her  mother's  chamber,  and  as  now 
w^atching  the  returning  hues  of  Hfe  color  her 
pale  cheek.  At  the  sound  of  my  name,  uttered 
behind  me,  I  arose.  I  had  expected  a  speedy 
visit  from  one  of  the  brothers,  but  I  had  been 
in  hopes  that  It  would  be  Dwight,  and  not  Guy, 
who  ./ould  make  It. 

"I  must  speak  to  yoo  at  once ;  will  you  fol- 
low me?"  asked  that  gcatleman,  bowing  re- 
spectfully as  I  turned. 

I  glanced  at  Mrs.  Harrington,  but  he  Im- 
patiently shook  liiS  head. 

8a  .    . 


Advances, 


fol- 


re- 


im- 


*'  Anice  Is  at  the  door,"  he  remarked.  *'  She 
is  accustomed  to  Mrs.  Harrington,  and  will 
see  that  she  is  properly  looked  after."  And, 
leading  the  way,  he  ushered  me  out,  pausing 
only  to  cast  one  hurried  glance  back  at  his  sis- 
ter, as  if  to  assure  himself  she  was  not  yet 
sufficiently  recovered  to  note  his  action. 

In  the  hall  he  offered  me  his  arm. 

**  The  gas  has  not  yet  been  lighted,"  he  ex- 
plained, ''  and  I  wish  you  to  go  with  me  to  the 
parlor." 

This  sounded  formidable,  but  I  did  not  hesi- 
tate.     I  felt  able  to  confront  this  man. 

**  I  am  at  your  service,"  I  declared,  with  a 
comfortable  sensation  that  my  tone  conveyed 
something  of  the  uncompromJsing  spirit  I  felt. 

The  room  to  which  he  conducted  me  was  on 
the  lirst  floor,  and  was  darkness  Itself  when  we 
entered.  It  was  musty,  too,  and  chill,  as  with 
the  memory  of  a  past  funeral  and  the  pre- 
monition of  a  new  one. 

Even  the  light  which  he  soon  made  did  not 
seem  to  be  at  home  in  the  spot,  but  wavered 
and  flickered  with  faint  gasps,  as  if  it  longed 
to  efface  itself  and  leave  the  grand  and  solitary 
ai)artmcrit  to   its  wonted  atmosphere   of  cold 


84 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


m 


W 


'■.  ( 


reserve.  By  its  feeble  flame  I  noted  but  two 
details  :  one  was  the  portrait  of  Mrs.  Pollard 
in  her  youth,  and  the  other  was  my  own  reflec- 
tion in  some  distant  mirror.  The  first  filled 
me  with  strange  thoughts,  the  face  was  so 
wickedly  powerful,  if  I  may  so  speak  ;  hand- 
some, but  with  that  will  beneath  its  beauty 
which,  when  allied  to  selfishness,  has  produced 
the  Lucretia  Borgias  and  Catherine  de  Medicis 
of  the  world. 

The  reflection  of  which  I  speak,  dimly  seen 
as  it  was,  had,  on  the  contrary,  a  calming  eflect 
upon  my  mind.  Weary  as  I  undoubtedly  was, 
and  pale  if  not  haggard  with  the  emotions  I 
had  experienced,  there  was  still  something 
natural  and  alive  in  my  image  that  recalled 
happier  scenes  to  my  eyes,  and  gave  me  the 
necessary  strength  tO  confront  the  possibilities 
of  the  present  interview. 

Mr.  Pollard,  who  in  his  taciturn  gloom 
seemed  like  the  natural  genius  of  the  spot, 
appeared  to  be  struck  by  this  same  sensation 
also,  for  his  eyes  wandered  more  than  once 
to  the  mirror,  before  he  summoned  up  cour- 
age, or,  perhaps,  I  should  say,  before  he  took 
the  determination  to  look  me  in  the  face  and 


.jtS^ 


Advances, 


85 


icr 


m 


r- 
k 


open  the  conversation.  When  he  did,  it  was 
curious  to  note  the  strife  of  expression  be- 
tween his  eye  and  lip  :  the  one  hard,  cold, 
and  unyielding ;  the  other  deprecating  in  its 
half-smile  and  falsely  gentle,  as  if  the  mind 
that  controlled  it  was  even  then  divided  be- 
tween its  wish  to  subdue  and  the  necessity 
it  felt  to  win. 

**  Miss  Sterling,"  so  he  began,  *'  it  would  be 
only  folly  for  me  to  speak  as  if  nothing  had 
occurred  but  an  ordinary  and  natural  death. 
It  would  be  doing  your  good  sense  and 
womanly  judgment  but  little  honor,  and  put- 
ting myself,  or,  rather,  ourselves — for  we  chil- 
dren are  but  one  in  this  matter — in  a  position 
which  would  make  any  after-explanations  ex- 
ceedingly difficult.  For  explanations  can  be 
given,  and  in  a  word,  for  what  has  doubtless 
struck  you  as  strange  and  terrible  in  my  moth- 
er's last  hours, — explanations  which  I  am  sure 
you  will  be  glad  to  accept,  as  it  is  not  natural 
for  one  so  blooming  in  her  womanliness  to 
wish  to  hamper  her  youth  with  dark  thoughts, 
or  to  nurse  suspicions  contrary  to  her  own  can- 
did and  noble  nature." 

He  paused,  but  meeting  with  no  response 


86 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


fli 


n  m 


i!i 


li  I 


I  i 


I   ' 


iiil 

II!     I 


\l         ! 

iJt    I    'i 

!liii 


I  I 


beyond  a  rather  cool  bow,  the  strife  between 
his  eye  and  lip  became  more  marked.  He 
went  on,  however,  as  if  perfectly  satisfied,  his 
voice  retaining  its  confident  tone,  whatever 
the  disturbance  communicated  to  his  inward 
nature. 

"  The  explanation  to  which  I  allude  is  this," 
said  he.  "  My  mother  for  the  past  three 
months  has  been  the  victim  of  many  un- 
wholesome delusions.  The  sickness  of  my 
father,  which  was  somewhat  prolonged,  made 
great  inroads  upon  her  strength  ;  and  his 
death,  followed  by  the  necessity  of  parting 
with  Mrs.  Harrington — whom  you  perhaps 
know  was  for  family  reasons  married  immedi- 
ately upon  my  father's  decease, — sowed  the 
seed  of  a  mental  weakness  which  culminated 
on  her  deathbed  into  a  positive  delirium.  She 
had  a  notion,  and  has  had  it  for  weeks,  un- 
known to  every  one  but  my  brother  and  my- 
self, that  Mrs.  Harrington  had  been  the  occa- 
sion of  some  great  misfortune  to  us  ;  whereas 
the  innocent  girl  had  done  nothing  but  follow 
out  her  mother's  wishes,  both  in  her  marriage 
and  in  her  settlement  in  a  distant  town.  But 
the  love  my  mother  had  felt  for  her  was  always 


Advances. 


87 


>» 


the  ruling  passion  of  her  life,  and  when  she 
came  to  find  herself  robbed  of  a  presence  that 
was  actually  necessary  to  her  well-being,  her 
mind,  by  some  strange  subtlety  of  disease  I 
^  do  not  profess  to  understand,  confounded  the  ' 
source  of  her  grief  with  its  cause,  attributing 
to  this  well-beloved  daughter's  will  the  suffer- 
ing which  only  sprang  out  of  the  circumstances 
of  the  case.  As  to  her  wild  remarks  in  regard 
to  Mr.  Barrows,"  he  added,  with  studied  indif- 
ference, "  and  the  oath  she  wished  us  to  take, 
that  was  but  an  outgrowth  of  the  shock  she 
had  received  in  hearing  of  the  clergyman's 
death.  For,  of  course,  I  need  not  assure  you, 
Miss  Sterling,  that  for  all  our  readiness  to  take 
the  oath  she  demanded,  neither  my  brother  nor 
myself  ever  were  at  the  mill,  or  knew  any  more 
of  the  mannc;r  or  cause  of  Mr.  Barrows'  death 
than  you  do." 

This  distinct  denial,  made  in  quiet  but  em- 
phatic tones,  caused  me  to  look  up  at  him  with 
what  was  perhaps  something  of  an  expressive 
glance.  For  at  its  utterance  the  longing  cry 
had  risen  in  my  heart,  ''  Oh,  that  it  were 
Dwight  who  had  said  that !"  And  the  realiza- 
tion which  it  immediately  brought  of  the  glad 


^^ 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


k 


A 


:a 


% 


1.0 


I.I 


■^  iii   12.2 


Z   b&    12.0 


IL25  i  1.4 


1.6 


-> 


/^ 


? 


Hiotographic 

^Sciences 

Corporation 


33  WIST  MAIN  STHIT 

WIUTIR.N.Y.  UStO 

(7U)l7a-4S03 


■^ 
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88 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


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credence  which  it  would  have  received  from 
me  had  it  only  fallen  from  /it's  lips  caused  an 
inward  tremble  of  self-consciousness  which 
doubtless  communicated  itself  to  my  glance. 
For  Guy  Pollard,  without  waiting  for  any. 
words  I  might  have  to  say,  leaned  towards  me 
with  a  gratified  air,  and  with  what  I  would  like 
to  call  a  smile,  exclaimed  : 

"You  have  been  in  the  house  scarce  twenty- 
four  hours,  but  I  feel  as  if  I  could  already  give 
you  the  title  of  friend.  Will  you  accept  it 
from  me.  Miss  Sterling,  and  with  it  my  most 
cordial  appreciation  and  esteem  ?  " 

"  Ah,  this  is  mere  bait  !  "  I  thought,  and 
was  tempted  to  indignantly  repel  the  hand  he 
held  out  ;  but  something  restrained  me  which 
I  am  too  proud  to  call  fear,  and  which  in 
reality  I  do  not  think  was  fear,  so  much  as  it 
was  wonder  and  a  desire  to  understand  the 
full  motive  of  a  condescension  I  could  not  but 
feel  was  unprecedented  in  this  arrogant  nature. 
I  therefore  gave  him  my  hand,  but  in  a  steady, 
mechanical  way  that  I  flattered  myself  com- 
mitted me  to  nothing  ;  though  the  slight  but 
unmistakable  pressure  he  returned  seemed  to 
show  that  he  took  it  for  a  sign  of  amity,  if  not 
of  absolute  surrender. 


Advances. 


S9 


<( 


Y( 


d 


ou  relieve  me  ot  a 


f 


ofreat  welsfht,"  he  ac- 


knowledged.  ''Had  you  been  of  the  common- 
place type  of  woman,  you  might  have  made  it 
very  uncomfortable  for  us." 

**  And  what  have  I  said  and  done,"  I  could 
not  help  remarking,  though  neither  so  bitterly 
nor  with  so  much  irony  as  I  might  have  done 
had  that  desin;  of  which  I  have  spoken  been 
less  keen  than  it  was,  ''  to  lead  you  to  think  I 
shall  not  yet  do  so  ?  " 

"  Your  glance  is  your  surety,"  was  the  re- 
sponse he  made.  ''That  and  your  honest 
hand,  which  does  not  lightly  fall  in  that  of  a 
stranger."  And  with  a  real  smile  now,  though 
it  was  by  no  means  the  reassuring  and  perhaps 
attractive  one  he  doubtless  meant  it  to  be,  he 
fixed  me  with  his  subtle  glance,  in  which  I 
began  to  read  a  meaning,  if  not  a  purpose, 
that  made  the  blood  leap  indignantly  to  my 
heart,  and  caused  me  to  feel  as  if  I  had  some- 
how stumbled  into  a  snare  from  which  it  would 
take  more  than  ordinary  skill  and  patience  to 
escape. 

A  look  down  the  shadowy  room  restored  my 
equanimity,  however.  It  was  all  so  unreal,  so 
ghostly,   I   could  not  help   acknowledging  to 


90 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


I 


^E-     VI 


\\ 


myself  that  I  was  moving  in  a  dream  which 
exaggerated  every  impression  I  received,  even 
that  which  might  be  given  by  the  bold  gaze  of 
an  unscrupulous  man.  So  I  determined  not 
to  believe  in  it,  or  in  any  thing  else  I  should 
see  that  night,  unless  it  were  in  the  stern  soul 
of  the  woman  who  had  just  died  ;  a  qualifica- 
tion which  my  mind  could  not  help  making  to 
itself  as  my  eyes  fell  again  upon  her  portrait, 
with  its  cruel,  unrelenting  expression. 

*'  You  do  not  feel  at  home  !  "  exclaimed  Guy, 
interpreting  according  to  his  needs  my  silence 
and  the  look  I  had  thrown  about  me.  "  I  do 
not  wonder,"  he  pursued.  '*  Dreariness  like 
this  has  little  to  do  with  youth  and  beauty. 
But  I  hope " — here  he  took  a  step  nearer, 
while  that  meaning  look — oh,  my  God  !  was 
I  deceiving  myself  ? — deepened  in  his  eyes — 
"  I  hope  the  day  will  come  when  you  will  see 
the  sunshine  stream  through  the  gloom  of  these 
dim  recesses,  and  in  the  new  cheer  infused  into 
the  life  of  this  old  mansion  forget  the  scenes  of 
horror  that  encompassed  the  beginning  of  our 
friendship."  And  with  a  bow  that  seemed  to 
intimate  that  necessity,  and  not  his  wishes, 
forced    him    to    terminate    this    interview,    he 


Advances, 


91 


of 


he 


was  stepping  back,  when  the  door  opened 
quickly  behind  him,  and  the  face  of  Dwight 
Pollard  showed  itself  on  the  threshold. 

The  look  he  cast  first  at  his  brother  and 
then  at  me  caused  a  fresh  tumult  to  take  place 
in  my  breast.  Was  it  displeasure  he  showed  ? 
I  was  pleased  to  think  so.  I  could  not  be  sure 
of  his  feeling,  however,  for  almost  on  the  in- 
stant his  brow  cleared,  and  advancing  with  an 
excuse  for  his  interruption,  he  spoke  a  few  low 
words  to  Guy.  The  latter  gravely  bowed,  and 
with  just  a  slight  glance  in  my  direction,  imme- 
diately left  the  room.  I  was  once  more  alone 
with  Dwight  Pollard. 

He  seemed  to  feel  the  situation  as  much  as 
I  did,  .  It  was  several  moments  before  he 
spoke,  a..d  when  he  did,  his  voice  had  a  sub- 
dued tremble  in  it  which  I  had  not  noticed 
before. 

"  Miss  Sterling,"  he  remarked,  "  my  brother 
has  been  talking  to  you,  trying,  I  presume,  to 
explain  to  you  the  distressing  scene  to  which 
you  have  just  been  witness." 

I  bowed,  for  I  seemed  to  have  no  words 
to  say,  though  he  evidently  longed  to  hear 
me  speak. 


■-    :< 


y 

' 

1' 

i 

If 

,i 

:  ^ 

■■ 

1 

1 

f0 


■  \ 

1 

jl  1)111 

!       1 

1' 

)  I 


Hi 


I! 


i 


w 


t« 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


"  My  brother  is  not  always  considerate  in 
his  manner  of  address,"  he  went  on,  after  a 
moment's  intent  scrutiny  of  my  face.  "  I  hope 
he  has  not  m.ade  you  feel  other  than  satisfied 
of  our  good-will  towards  you  ?  " 

**  No,"  I  faintly  smiled,  wishing  I  knew  what 
feeling  prompted  this  subtle  attempt  to  learn 
the  nature  of  the  interview  which  had  just 
passed.  "  Mr.  Guy  Pclard  has  never  been 
any  thing  but  polite  to  me." 

He  looked  at  me  again  as  if  he  would  read 
my  very  soul,  but  I  gave  him  no  help  to  its 
understanding,  and  he  presently  dropped  his 
eyes. 

"  Did  he  tell  you,"  he  at  last  resumed,  with 
some  effort,  "  that  it  is  our  wish  for  you  to  re- 
main in  this  house  till  our  mother  is  buried  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  returned,  "  he  said  nothing  about 
it." 

**  But  you  will  do  so  ?"  he  queried,  in  that 
rich  and  deep  tone  which  thrilled  so  danger- 
ously to  my  heart. 

"  I — I  must  have  time  to  think,"  I  faltered, 
taken  by  surprise,  and  not  seeing  my  way  as 
clearly  as  I  could  wish.  "It  is  my  desire  to 
attend  the  funeral  of  Mr.  Barrows  and  Miss 


11 


Adva7ices. 


93 


ith 


Reynolds,  and Mr.  Pollard  ! "  I  suddenly 

exclaimed,  taking  perhaps  the  most  courageous 
resolution  of  my  life,  "  I  must  be  honest  with 
you.  It  is  useless  for  me  to  deny  that  the 
manner  and  circumstances  of  your  mother's 
death  have  made  a  great  impression  upon  me ; 
that  I  cannot,  in  spite  of  all  explanations,  but 
connect  some  special  significance  to  the  oath 
you  were  requested  to  take  ;  and  that,  weak- 
ened as  your  mother  may  have  been,  some- 
thing more  terrible  than  the  mere  shock  of 
hearing  of  her  pastor's  sudden  decease  must 
have  occasioned  emotions  so  intense  as  to  end 
in  death  and  delirium.  If,'  therefore,  you  are 
willing  to  assure  me,  as  your  brother  has  done, 
that  it  was  entirely  a  fancy  of  hers  that  you 
ever  held  any  communication  with  Mr.  Bar- 
rows at  the  mill,  I  will  gladly  promise  to  dis- 
abuse my  mind  of  all  unfavorable  impressions, 
and  even  promise  to  stay  here,  if  such  be  your 
desire,  till  the  days  of  your  trouble  are  over,  and 
the  body  of  your  mother  is  laid  in  her  grave." 

**  And  has  my  brother  given  you  such  an 
assurance  as  you  speak  of  ?  " 

**  He  has,"  I  returned. 

'*  Then  why  do  you  ask  one  from  me  ?  " 


94 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


[•  I 


!! 


Was  it  possible  for  me  to  tell  him  ? 

*'  If  it  was  not  enough  coming  from  his  lips, 
how  could  it  be  coming  from  mine  ?"  he  con- 
tinued. 

Shame  and  confusion  kept  me  silent. 

"  Would  it  be  ?  "  he  persisted,  this  time  with 
feeling  and  something  like  a  hint  of  eagerness 
in  his  voice. 

I  dared  not  say  "  Yes,"  and  yet  I  must  have 
the  assurance  I  demanded,  if  ever  T  was  to 
know  peace  again. 

**  You  no  not  answer  ;  but  I  think,  I  feel 
confident  you  would  believe  my  word.  Miss 
Sterling." 

"  I  have  asked  for  it,"  I  returned. 

He  turned  frigh  iully  pale  ;  it  seemed  as  if 
he  would  speak,  buc  the  words  did  not  come. 
I  felt  my  heart  growing  sick,  and  as  for  him, 
he  started  violently  away  from  my  side,  and 
took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  I  cannot  deny  what  looks  like  an  accusa- 
tion," he  declared  at  last,  coming  and  standing 
before  me  with  a  sombre  but  determined  air. 
"My  pride  alone  is  sufficient  to  deter  me. 
Will  you  accept  from  me  any  thing  less.  I  am 
not  such  a  man  as  my  brother." 


lail 


Advaficcs, 


95 


**  I  will  accept  your  assurance  that  as  the 
true  friend  to  Ada  Reynolds  I  may  remain  in 
this  house  without  stain  to  her  memory  or 
love."  ' 

"  Then  you  think " 

"  No,"  said  I,  with  a  burst  I  could  not  con- 
trol, "  I  dc»  not  think  ;  I  do  not  want  to  think  ; 
do  not  make  me,  I  entreat." 

He  smiled,  a  sad  and  fearful  smile,  and  took 
another  turn  up  and  down  the  seemingly 
darkening  room.  When  he  came  back  I  was 
cold  as  marble,  and  almost  as  insensible. 

"  Miss  Sterling,"  were  his  words,  "  do  you 
remember  a  conversation  we  had  this  morn- 
mg? 

I  bowed,  with  a  sudden  rush  of  hope  that 
almost  melted  me  again. 

"In  that  conversation  I  made  a  solemn  as- 
sertion ;  do  you  recollect  what  it  was  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  looked,  if  I  did  not  audibly  reply. 

"  I  make  that  assertion  again — is  it  suffi- 
cient ?  "  he  asked. 

At  that  moment  it  seemed  to  me  that  it 
was.  I  looked  and  felt  as  if  a  great  weight 
had  been  lifted  from  my  heart,  and  though  he 
flushed  deeply,  as  any  man  of  spirit,  let  alone 


■  >7 

f 


« 


IP 


i  f '" 


96 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


one  of  such  a  proud  and  aristocratic  nature  as 
his,  would  be  apt  to  under  the  circumstances, 
I  saw  that  he  experienced  a  relief  also,  and 
giving  way  to  an  impulse  I  do  not  yet  know 
whether  to  regret  or  not,  I  held  out  my  hand, 
saying  calmly  : 

"  I  will  remain,  Mr.  Pollard." 


liH, 


Si; 


'ii'j 


2  as 


ces, 
and 
low 
tnd, 


» 


VIII. 

A    FLOWER    FROM    THE    POLLARD   CONSERVATORY. 
You  may  wear  your  rae  with  a  difference. — Hamlet. 

MRS.  HARRINGTON  did  not  immedi- 
ately recover  from  the  shock  she  had 
received.  I  therefore  found  myself  fully  em- 
ployed the  next  day.  Towards  evening,  how- 
ever, a  respite  came,  and  I  took  the  oppor- 
tunity for  a  stroll  up-street,  as  much  for  the 
sake  of  hearing  the  gossip  of  the  town  as  to 
escape  from  the  atmosphere  of  sorrow  and 
perplexity  by  which  I  was  surrounded. 

My  walk  down  to  the  gate  was  full  of  a 
certain  uneasy  apprehension.  I  had  made  no 
secret  of  my  intentions  at  the  supper-table,  and 
for  the  reason  that  neither  of  the  brothers  had 
ventured  upon  any  reply  to  my  remark,  I  ex- 
pected one,  if  not  both,  of  them  to  join  me  on 
the  way.  But  I  reached  the  last  turn  of  the 
path  without  meeting  any  one,  and  I  was  con- 

97 


98 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


n 


IS  !i- 


F  » 


if      « 


Ill  i 


gratulating  myself  upon  the  prospect  of  having 
an  hour  of  perfect  freedom,  when  I  detected, 
leaning  on  the  gate  before  me,  the  firm,  well- 
knit  figure  of  a  man. 

As  the  two  Pollards  were  more  or  less  alike 
in  form,  I  could  not  distinguish  at  first  glance 
which  of  the  brothers  it  was.  I  therefore 
faltered  back  a  step,  and  was  indeed  debating 
whether  I  should  not  give  up  my  project  and 
return  to  the  house,  when  I  saw  the  gentle- 
man's head  turn,  and  realized  that  it  was  too 
late  to  retreat.  I  therefore  advanced  with  as 
much  calmness  as  I  could  assume,  determined 
not  to  vary  my  conduct,  no  matter  which  of 
the  brothers  it  should  turn  out  to  be.  But,  to 
my  great  surprise,  the  gentleman  before  me 
gave  me  no  opportunity  to  test  my  resolution. 
No  sooner  did  he  perceive  me  than  he  made  a 
hurried  gesture  that  I  did  not  at  that  moment 
understand  ;  and,  just  lifting  his  hat  in  cour- 
teous farewell,  vanished  from  my  sight  in  the 
thick  bushes  which  at  that  place  encumbered 
the  grounds. 

"  It  was  Dwight ;  it  was  Guy,"  I  alternately 
explained  to  myself,  and  knew  not  whether  it 
would    give   me    most    relief    to    find    myself 


Il 


A  Flower  from  the  Pollard  Conservatory.     99 

shunned  by  the  one  or  the  other.  My  final 
conclusion,  that  I  wished  to  have  nothing 
further  to  do  with  either  of  them,  received, 
notwithstanding,  a  rude  shock  when  I  arrived 
at  the  gate-post.  For  there,  on  its  broad  top, 
lay  a  magnificent  blossom,  the  choicest  fruit  of 
the  hot-house,  and  it  was  to  beg  my  acceptance 
of  this  that  the  gentleman  had  made  the  pe- 
culiar gesture  I  had  noticed — an  act  which,  if 
it  came  from  Dwight,  certainly  possessed  a 
significance  which  I  was  not  3^et  ready  to 
ignore  ;   while,   if  it  proceeded  from  his  cold 

and  crafty  brother But  I  would  not  allow 

myself  to  dwell  upon  that  possibility.  The 
flower  must  be  mine,  and  if  afterwards  I  found 
that  it  was  to  Guy  I  owed  its  possession,  it 
would  be  time  enough  then  for  me  to  de- 
termine what  to  do.  So  I  took  the  gorgeous 
blossom  off  the  post  and  was  speeding  away 
down  the  street,  when  I  was  suddenly  stopped 
by  the  thought  that  only  Guy  would  have  the 
egotism  to  bestow  a  gift  upon  me  in  this  way  ; 
that  Dwight,  if  he  had  wished  to  present  it  at 
all,  would  have  done  so  with  his  own  hand,  and 
not  left  it  lying  on  a  gate-post  with  the  assur- 
ance it  would  be  gathered  up  by  the  fortunate 
recipient  of  his  favor. 


!l 


w 


tf)0 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


Disgusted  with  myself,  and  instantly  alive  to 
the  possible  consequences  of  my  act,  I  opened 
my  fingers  with  the  laudable  intention  of  drop- 
ping the  flower  to  the  ground,  when  I  saw 
standing  in  the  road  directly  in  front  of  me 
the  beautiful  idiot  boy  whose  peculiarities  of 
appearance  and  conduct  had  so  attracted  my 
attention  in  the  summer-house  the  day  before. 
He  was  looking  at  me  with  a  strange  gaze  of 
mingled  curiosity  and  imbecile  good-nature, 
and  his  hands,  white  as  milk,  trembled  in  the 
air  before  him,  as  if  he  could  scarcely  restrain 
himself  from  snatching  out  of  my  grasp  the 
superb  flower  I  seemed  so  willing  to  throw 
away. 

A  happy  impulse  seized  me. 

**  Here,"  said  I,  proffering  him  the  blossom. 
"  This  will  give  you  more  pleasure  than  it  will 


me. 


M 


But,  to  my  great  astonishment,  he  turned  on 
his  heel  with  a  loud  laugh,  and  then,  shaking 
his  head,  and  rolling  it  curiously  from  side  to 
side,  exclaimed,  with  his  usual  repetition  : 

"  No,  no,  it  is  a  lover's  gift,  a  lover's  gift ; 
you  will  wear  it  in  your  hair."  And  he  danced 
about  me  with  grotesque  gayety  for  a  moment, 


A  Flower  from  the  Pollard  Conservatory,    loi 


) 


then  flitted  away  to  a  position  from  which  he 
could  still  see  me  without  being  within  reach  of 
my  hand. 

Under  these  circumstances  I  was  too  proud 
to  fling  the  flower  away  ;  so  I  dropped  it  into 
a  basket  I  held,  and  walked  swiftly  down  the 
street.  The  idiot  boy  followed  me  ;  now  skip- 
ping a  pace  or  two  in  advance,  and  now  falling 
back  till  I  had  passed  far  beyond  him.  As  he 
flashed  back  and  forth,  I  saw  that  his  eyes 
were  always  on  my  face,  and  once,  as  I  con- 
fronted him  with  mine,  he  broke  out  into  a 
series  of  chuckles,  and  cried  :  "  Do  they  like 
you  now  ?  do  they  like  you  now  ?  "  and  laughed 
and  danced,  and  laughed  again,  till  I  began  to 
find  the  situation  somewhat  embarrassing,  and 
was  glad  enough  when  at  the  corner  of  a  street 
he  disappeared  from  my  view,  with  the  final 
cry  of  :  "  One  day,  two  days  ;  wait  till  you 
have  been  there  ten  ;  wait  till  you  have  been 
there  twenty  ! " 

Hot  and  trembling  with  apprehension  lest  his 
foolish  speeches  had  been  heard  by  some  pas- 
ser-by, I  hurried  on  my  way  to  the  house  where 
I  lived.  I  reached  it  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
being  so  fortunate  as  to  find  my  landlady  in, 


m 


f    1, 


I02 


Tke  Mill  Mystery. 


succeeded  before  another  half-hour  had  passed 
in  learning  all  that  was  generally  known  about 
the  serious  occurrences  in  which  I  was  just 
then  so  profoundly  interested. 

I  heard  first  that  the  vat  in  the  old  mill  had 
been  examined  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining 
how  it  came  to  be  full  enough  of  water  to 
drown  a  man  ;  and  it  was  found  that,  owing 
to  a  heavy  storm  which  had  lately  devastated 
the  country,  a  portion  of  the  wall  above  the 
vat  had  been  broken  in  by  a  falling  tree,  allow- 
ing the  rain  to  enter  in  floods  from  a  jutting 
portion  ol  the  roof.  Next,  that  although  an 
inquest  had  been  held  over  Mr.  Barrows'  re- 
mains, and  a  verdict  been  given  of  accidental 
death,  the  common  judgment  of  the  community 
ascribed  his  end  to  suicide.  This  was  mainly 
owing  to  the  fact  that  the  woman  in  whose 
house  he  had  lived  had  testified  to  having 
observed  a  great  change  in  his  appearance 
during  the  last  few  weeks  ;  a  change  which 
many  were  now  ready  to  allow  they  had  them- 
selves perceived  ;  though,  from  the  fact  of  its 
having  escaped  the  attention  of  Ada,  I  cannot 
but  think  they  were  greatly  helped  to  this 
conclusion  by  their  own  imagination. 


A  Flower  from  the  Pollard  Conservatory.    103 

The  last  thing  I  made  sure  of  was  that  the 
two  deaths  which  had  followed  his  so  tragically 
had  awakened  on  all  sides  the  deepest  interest 
and  pity,  but  nothing  more.  That  although 
the  general  features  of  Mrs.  Pollard's  end  were 
well  enough  known,  no  whisper  of  suspicion 
had  been  breathed  against  her  or  hers,  that 
showed  in  the  faintest  way  that  any  doubt 
mingled  with  the  general  feeling  of  commis- 
eration. And  yet  it  was  too  evident  she  was 
no  favorite  with  the  world  at  large,  and  that 
the  respect  with  which  she  was  universally 
mentioned  was  rather  the  result  of  the  pride 
felt  in  her  commanding  manners  and  position, 
than  from  any  personal  liking  for  the  woman 
herself. 

As  for  the  sons,  they  were  fine  young  men 
in  their  way,  and  had  the  sympathy  of  every- 
body in  their  bereavement  ;  but  gossip,  if  it 
busied  itself  with  their  names  at  all,  was  much 
more  interested  in  wondering  what  disposition 
they  would  make  of  the  property  now  coming 
to  them,  than  in  inquiring  whether  or  not  they 
could  have  had  any  secret  relations  with  the 
man  now  dead,  which  were  calculated  to  ex- 
plain in  any  way  his  mysterious  end. 


^ ' 


(!■ 


'      ' 


-■»■■ 


',\ 


)  I 


104 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


Finally  I  learned  that  Ada  and  Mr.  Barrows 
were  to  be  buried  the  next  day. 

Satisfied  with  the  information  obtained,  I 
started  immediately  for  the  Pollard  mansion. 
It  was  my  wish  to  re-enter  it  before  dr^k. 
But  the  twilight  fell  fast,  and  by  the  time  I 
reached  the  gate  I  could  barely  discern  that  a 
masculine  figure  was  again  leaning  there,  wait- 
ing, as  it  appeared,  for  my  return.  The  dis- 
covery caused  me  a  sensation  of  relief.  Now  I 
shonld  at  least  learn  which  of  the  two  brothers 
showed  this  interest  in  my  movements,  for  this 
time  the  gentleman  betrayed  no  disposition  to 
leave  at  my  approach  ;  on  the  contrary,  he  ad- 
vanced, and  in  the  mellow  accents  I  had  learned 
in  so  short  a  time  to  listen  for,  observed  :     , 

"  I  knew  you  wished  to  go  alone,  Miss  Ster- 
ling, or  I  should  have  offered  you  my  protection 
in  your  dismal  walk.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  re- 
turn before  it  is  quite  dark." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  responded,  with  almost  a 
degree  of  joyousness  in  my  tone,  I  was  so  glad 
to  be  rid  of  the  perplexity  that  had  weighed 
down  my  spirits  for  the  last  half-hour.  **  It  is 
not  pleasant  to  walk  the  streets  at  dusk  alone, 
but  necessity  has  accustomed  me  to  it,  and  I 
scarcely  think  of  its  dangers  nc'^\" 


-^ 


t  a 
lad 
hed 
t  Is 
)ne, 
d  I 


A  Flower  from  the  Pollard  Conservatory,    105 

"  You  utter  that  in  a  proud  tone,"  he  de- 
clared, reaching  out  and  taking  the  basket  that 
hung  on  my  arm.  , 

"■  I  have  reason  to,"  I  replied,  glad  it  was  so 
dark  he  could  not  see  the  blush  which  his  action 
had  caused.  "It  was  no  slight  struggle  for  me 
to  overcome  certain  prejudices  in  which  I  have 
been  reared.  That  I  have  been  able  to  do  so 
gives  me  wholesome  satisfaction.  I  am  no 
longer  ashamed  to  own  that  I  stand  by  myself, 
and  work  for  every  benefit  I  obtain." 

"  Nor  need  you  be,"  he  murmured.  **  In 
this  age  and  in  this  country  a  woman  like  you 
forfeits  nothing  by  maintaining  her  own  inde- 
pendence. On  the  contrary,  she  gains  some- 
thing, and  that  is  the  respect  of  every  true- 
hearted  man  that  knows  her."  And  his  step 
lagged  more  and  more  in  spite  of  my  conscien- 
tious efforts  to  maintain  the  ^nsk  pace  in 
which  I  had  indulged  before  I  had  encountered 
him  at  the  gate. 

^  "  This  is  a  grand  old  place,"  I  remarked, 
vaguely  anxious  to  change  the  drift  of  the  con- 
versation. 

•'  Yes,"  he  answered,  moodily ;  '*  but  it  is 
shadowed."     And  with  a  sudden  relapse  into 


io6 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


\\  I 


his  most  sombre  self,  he  walked  at  my  side  in 
silence  till  the  sight  of  the  high  porch  showing 
itself  through  the  trees  warned  him  that  if  he 
had  any  thing  further  to  say  to  me,  it  must  be 
said  soon.  He  therefore  paused,  forcing  me  by 
the  action  to  pause  too,  and  earnesdy  observed  : 
**  I  know,  however  you  m.ay  address  me,  Miss 
Sterling,  you  cherish  a  doubt  of  me  in  your 
heart.  I  cannot  resent  this,  much  as  my 
natural  pride  might  prompt  me  to  do  so. 
During  the  short  time  in  which  I  have  known 
you,  you  have  won  so  deeply  upon  my  esteem, 
that  the  utmost  which  I  feel  able  to  ask  of  you 
under  the  circumstances  is,  that,  in  the  two  or 
three  days  you  will  yet  remain  with  us,  you  will 
allow  yourself  but  one  thought  concerning  me, 
and  that  is,  that  I  aspire  to  be  an  honest  man, 
and  to  do  not  only  what  the  world  thinks  right, 
but  even  what  such  a  conscientious  soul  as 
yours  must  consider  so.  Are  you  willing  to 
regard  me  in  this  light;  and  will  my  mere 
word  be  sufficient  to  cause  you  to  do  so  ? " 

It  was  a  searching  question  after  his  proffer, 
and  my  acceptance  of  the  flower  I  held  con- 
cealed, and  I  hesitated  a  moment  before  re- 
plying to  it.     I  am  so  intensely  proud ;   and 


ii 


11 


i  I 


A  Flower  from  the  Pollard  Conservatory,    107 

then  I  could  not  but  acknowledge  to  myself 
that,  whatever  my  excuse,  I  was  certainly 
running  a  risk  of  no  ordinary  nature  in  listen- 
ing to  the  addresses  of  a  man  who  could  inspire 
me,  or  ever  had  inspired  me,  with  the  faintest 
element  of  distrust. 

He  noted  my  silence  and  drew  back,  utter- 
ing a  sigh  that  was  half  impatient  and  half 
sorrowful.  I  felt  this  sigh,  nondescript  as  it 
was,  re-echo  painfully  in  my  heart,  and  hung 
my  head  in  remorse ;  but  not  before  I  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  his  face,  and  been  struck 
by  its  expression  of  deep  melancholy. 

**  You  have  no  favor  to  show  me,  then?"  he 
asked. 

Instantly  and  without  premeditation  I  seized 
upon  the  basket  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  im- 
petuously opened  the  lid. 

^*  Have  I  not  shown  you  one  ?"  I  inquired. 

A  sound — it  never  came  from  him  or  from 
me — made  us  both  start.  With  a  fierce  ex- 
pression he  turned  towards  the  bushes  at  our 
right,  but  not  before  I  had  seen,  by  the  look 
of  astonishment  he  had  cast  upon  the  flower, 
that,  notwithstanding  the  coincidence  of  find- 
ing him  at  the  gate,  he  had  had  nothing  to  do 
with  its  culling  or  presentation. 


i 


it 


Ul    ^ 


w 


-I 


1 08 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


"  Some  one  is  presuming  to  play  the  spy 
upon  us,"  said  he,  and  drawing  my  hand 
through  his  arm,  he  led  me  swiftly  towards  the 
porch.  "  You  need  not  tremble  so,"  he  whis- 
pered, as  we  halted  an  inr>tant  between  the 
cedars  before  mounting  the  steeo  bteps.  "  No 
one  in  this  house  wishes  to  annoy  you — or  if 
there  should  be  any  one  who  does,"  he  cor- 
rected in  a  quick  tone,  while  he  cast  a  glance 
of  quick  suspicion  at  the  basket  in  my  hand, 
*'  that  person  and  I  will  soon  come  to  an 
understanding." 

*'  I  was  only  startled,"  was  my  quick  re- 
joinder, glad  to  explain  m^y  tremulousness  in 
this  way.  **  Let  us  go  in,"  I  added,  feeling 
that  I  must  escape  to  some  place  of  solitude, 
if  only  to  hide  my  shame  and  chagrin  from 
every  eye.    - 

He  acquiesced  in  my  wishes  at  once,  and  we 
were  proceeding  slowly  up  the  steps,  when 
suddenly  a  shrill,  strange  laugh  broke  from 
amid  the  bushes,  and  the  weird  voice  of  the 
idiot  boy,  whom  I  thought  had  been  left  be- 
hind me  in  the  town,  rose  once  more  to  my 
ear,  uttering  those  same  words  which  had  so 
annoyed  me  earlier  in  the  evening. 


','» 


A  Flower  from  the  Pollard  Conservatory,   109 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  they  like  you  now  ?  Say, 
say,  do  you  think  they  Hke  you  now  ?  "  But 
the  tone  with  which  he  addressed  me  this  time 
had  a  ring  of  menace  in  it,  and  I  was  not  sur- 
prised to  see  Dwight  Pollard  start,  though  I 
was  somewhat  affected  by  the  deep  agitation 
he  showed  as  I  tried  to  explain  : 

'*  Oh,  it  is  only  the  little  idiot  boy  whom 
you  must  have  seen  running  about  the  streets. 
He  seems  to  have  taken  a  fancy  to  me,  for  he 
followed  me  nearly  all  the  while  I  was  gone, 
with  something  of  the  same  senseless  remarks 
as  now." 

"The  idiot  boy!"  repeated  Mr.  Pollard. 
"Well,  we  will  leave  the  idiot  boy  outside." 
And  he  held  the  door  open  till  I  had  hurried 
in,  when  he  vehemently  closed  it,  looking  at 
the  same  time  as  if  he  had  shut  the  door  on  a 
threatening  evil,  or,  at  the  most,  on  a  bitter 
and  haunting  memory. 

That  night  I  did  an  unworthy  thing ;  I 
listened  to  conversation  which  was  not  in- 
tended for  my  ears.  It  happened  in  this  wise  : 
I  had  been  down-stairs  on  an  errand  for  Mrs. 
Harrington,  and  was  coming  back  through  the 


1 


no 


vi 


1:1/ 


I 


ts  ■ 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


dimly  lighted  hall,  when  I  saw  Dwight  Pollard 
step  out  of  a  room  in  front  of  me  and  accost  a 
man  t^"'  vas  locking  and  bolting  the  front 
door. 

"  Simon,"  I  heard  him  say,  **  you  remember 
that  beautiful  flower  I  noticed  yesterday  in  the 
conservatory?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  the  man  replied,  with  some  em- 
barrassment in  his  voice.  • 

"  Well,  I  want  it  picked  to-morrow  for  my 
mother's   funeral.      You   will   bring  it   to  my 


room.  ;^ 

"  Oh,  sir,"  I  heard  the  man  hurriedly  inter- 
pose, "  I  'm  sure  I  'm  very  sorry,  sir  ;  but  it 
has  already  been  picked,  and  there  won't  be 
another  out  before  next  week. 

I  knew  I  ought  not  to  stay  there  and  listen, 
especially  as  I  could  easily  have  gone  on  my 
way  without  attracting  attention  ;  but  having 
heard  thus  much,  I  found  it  impossible  to  go 
on  till  I  had  at  least  learned  if  Mr.  Pollard  had 
the  motive  I  suspected  in  these  inquiries  of 
his.     His  next  words  satisfied  me  on  this  point. 

"  And  who  was  the  fortunate  one  to  obtain 
this  flower  ?  "  he  asked,  in  an  accent  indifferent 
enough  to  deceive  a  merely  casual  listener. 


i 


I 


em- 

t 

my 
my 


A  Flower  from  the  Pollard  Conservatory,   1 1 1 

''  Mr.  Guy,  sir."    - 

**  Ah,  so  he  noticed  it  too  ! "  was  the  re- 
mark with  which  Mr.  Pollard  dropped  the  sub- 
ject, and  hurried  away  from  the  gardener's 
side. 

The  next  instant  I  perceived  him  pass  into 
Guy's  room,  and  I  saw  that  an  explanation  of 
some  kind  was  about  to  take  place  between 
the  brothers 


be 


\     ' 


■f  ■  '  I- 


IX. 


AN    UNEXPECTED    DISCOVERY.     • 

Hold,  hold  my  heart  !  ^ 

And  you,  my  sinews,  grow  not  instant  old, 
'  ,     But  bear  me  stiffly  up  ! 

WHETHER  intentionally  or  uninten- 
tionally, I  was  saved  the  embarrass- 
ment of  meeting  Guy  Pollard  at  the  breakfast- 
table  the  next  morning.  I  was,  therefore,  left 
in  ignorance  as  to  the  result  of  the  conversa- 
tion between  the  brothers,  though  from  the 
softened  manner  of  Dwight,  and  the  quiet  as- 
surance with  which  he  surrounded  me  with  the 
delicate  atmosphere  of  his  homage,  I  could  not 
but  argue  that  he  had  come  out  master  of  the 
situation. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  mingled  feelings  of 
pleasure  and  apprehension  that  I  left  the  house 
at  the  hour  appointed  for  the  double  funeral ; 
feelings  that  would  have  been  yet  more  alive 
had  I  realized  that  I  should  not  re-enter  those 

'  r  112 


i 


\ 


\\M 


An  Unexpected  Discovery, 


113 


i 


gates  again,  or  see  the  interior  of  that  fatal 
house,  till  I  had  passed  through  many  bitter 
experiences. 

The  ceremonies,  in  spite  of  the  latent  suspi- 
cion of  the  community  that  Mr/ Barrows  death 
had  been  one  of  his  own  seeking,  were  of  the 
most  touching  and  impressive  description.  I 
was  overcome  by  them,  and  left  the  churchyard 
before  the  final  prayer  was  said,  feeling  as  if 
the  life  of  the  last  three  days  had  been  a 
dream,  and  that  here  in  the  memory  of  my 
lovely  Ada  and  her  griefs  lay  my  true  exist- 
ence and  the  beginning  and  ending  of  my  most 
sacred  duty. 

Pursuant  to  this  thought  I  did  not  turn  im- 
mediately back  to  the  gloomy  mansion  which 
claimed  me  for  the  present  as  its  own,  but  wan- 
dered away  in  an  opposite  direction,  soothing 
my  conscience  by  the  thought  that  it  was  many 
hours  yet  before  the  services  would  be  held  for 
Mrs.  Pollard,  and  that  neither  the  brothers  nor 
Mrs.  Harrington  could  have  any  use  for  me 
till  that  time. 

The  road  I  had  taken  was  a  sequestered 
one,  and  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  some,  did 
not  awaken  special  memories  in  my  mind  till  I 


114 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


# 


:1      I 


came  to  a  point  where  an  opening  in  the  trees 
gave  to  my  view  the  vision  of  two  tall  chim- 
neys ;  when  like  a  flash  it  came  across  me  that 
I  was  on  the  mill  road,  and  within  a  few  short 
rods  of  the  scen'fe  of  Mr.  Barrows'  death. 

The  sensation  that  seized  me  at  this  dis- 
covery was  of  the  strangest  kind.  I  felt  that  I 
had  been  led  there  ;  and  without  a  thought  of 
what  I  was  doing,  pressed  on  with  ever-increas- 
ing rapidity  till  I  came  to  the  open  doorway 
with  its  dismantled  entrance. 

To  pass  over  the  now  much-trodden  grass 
and  take  my  stand  by  the  dismal  walls  was  the 
work  of  an  instant  ;  but  when  I  had  done  this 
and  experienced  in  a  rush  the  loneliness  and 
ghostly  influence  of  the  place,  I  was  fain  to 
turn  back  and  leave  it  to  the  dream  of  its 
own  fearful  memories.  But  the  sight  of  a 
small  piece  of  paper  pinned  or  pasted  on  the 
board  that  had  been  nailed  in  futile  precaution 
across  the  open  doorway  deterred  me.  It  was 
doubtless  nothing  more  important  than  a  notice 
from  the  town  authorities,  or  possibly  from  the 
proprietors  of  the  place,  but  my  curiosity  was 
excited,  and  I  desired  to  see  it.  So  I  hastened 
over  to  where  it  was,  and  with  little  apprehen- 

■  ■       .     ■        ; .  :    ■  \ 


i\ 


^ 


I 


i 


»  I 


An  Unexpected  Discovery, 


115 


sion  of  the  shock  that  was  destined  to  over- 
whelm me,  read  these  words  : 


(( f\ 


Those  who  say  Mr.  Barrows  coinmitted  suicide  lie. 
He  was  murdered,  and  by  parties  whose  position  places 
ihem  above  suspicion,  as  their  wealth  and  seeming  pros- 
perity rob  them  of  even  the  appearance  of  motive  for  such 
a  terrible  deed." 

No  names  mentioned  ;  but  O  God !  And 
that  word  murdered.  It  swam  before  my  eyes  ; 
it  burned  itself  into  every  thing  upon  which  I 
looked,  it  settled  like  a  weight  of  iron  upon 
my  heart,  pressing  me  nearer  and  nearer  and 

nearer   to  the   ground,   till  finally Ah  ! 

can  it  be  that  this  is  really  I,  and  that  I  am 
standing  here  in  a  desolate  plac^  alone,  with 
no  human  being  in  sight,  and  with  a  paper  in 
my  hand  that  seems  to  grow  larger  and  larger 
as  I  gaze,  and  ask  me  what  I  mean  to  do  now, 
and  whether  in  tearing  it  from  the  wall  where 
it  hung,  I  allied  myself  to  the  accused,  or  by 
one  stroke  proclaimed  myself  that  avenger 
which,  if  the  words  on  this  paper  were  true,  I 
owed  it  to  my  Ada  and  the  promise  which  I 
had  given  her  to  be  ?  The  cloud  that  envel- 
oped my  brain  pressed  upon  me  too  closely  for 
me  to  give  an  answer  to  questions  so  vital  and 


■■  I 


1 1 


ii6 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


terrific.  I  was  in  a  maze, — a  horrible  dream  ; 
I  could  not  think,  T  could  only  suffer,  and  at 
last  creep  away  like  a  shadow  of  guiltiness  to 
where  a  cluster  of  pine-trees  made  a  sort  of 
retreat  into  which  I  felt  I  could  thrust  my  al- 
most maddened  head  and  be  lost. 

For  great  shocks  reveal  deep  secrets,  and  in 
the  light  of  this  pitiless  accusation,  this  fact 
had  revealed  itself  without  disguise  to  my  eyes, 
that  it  was  love  I  felt  for  Dwight  Pollard  ;  not 
admiration,  not  curiosity,  not  even  the  natural 
desire  to  understand  one  so  seemingly  impene- 
trable, but  love,  real,  true,  yearning,  and  des- 
potic love,  which  if  well  founded  might  have 
made  my  bliss  for  a  lifetime,  and  which  now 

I  thrust  the  paper  between  my  lips  to 

keep  down  the  cry  that  rose  there,  and  hiding 
my  face  deep  down  in  the  turf,  mourned  the 
weakness  that  made  me  so  ready  a  victim, 
while  at  the  same  time  I  prepared  to  sustain 
the  struggle  which  I  knew  must  there  and  then 
be  waged  and  decided  if  I  was  ever  to  face  the 
world  again  with  the  strength  and  calmness 
which  my  nature  demanded,  and  the  extraor- 
dinary circumstances  of  my  position  imposed. 

The  result  was  an  hour  of  misery,  with  a 


■/I 


f..^ 


An  Unexpected  Discovery, 


"7 


1 


sensation  of  triumph  at  the  end ;  though  I  do 
not  pretend  to  say  that  in  this  one  effort  I 
overcame  the  admiration  and  interest  which 
attached  my  thoughts  to  this  man.  The  ac- 
cusation was  as  yet  too  vague,  and  its  source 
too  doubtful,  to  blot  his  image  with  inc^aceable 
stains ;  but  I  did  succeed  in  gaining  suffi- 
cient mastery  over  myself  to  make  it  possible 
to  review  the  situation  and  give  what  I  meant 
should  be  an  unbiassed  judgment  as  to  the 
duty  it  imposed  upon  me. 

The  result  was  a  determination  to  hold  my- 
self neutral  till  I  had  at  least  discovered  the 
author  of  the  lines  I  held  in  my  hand.  If  they 
came  from  a  credible  person — but  how  could 
they  do  so  and  be  written  and  posted  up  in  the 
manner  they  were  ?  An  honest  man  docs  not 
seek  any  such  roundabout  way  to  strike  his 
blow.  Only  a  cc^vard  or  a  villain  would  take 
this  method  to  arouse  public  curiosity,  and 
perhaps  create  public  suspicion. 

And  yet  who  could  say  that  a  coward  and  a 
villain  might  not  be  speaking  the  truth  even  in 
an  accusation  of  this  nature  ?  The  very  fact 
that  it  met  and  gave  form  and  substance  to 
my  own  dim  and  unrecognized  fears,  proved 


ii8 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


S .  I 


■.■ii'i 


i  ■<■ 


I 


that  something  as  yet  unknown  and  unsounded 
connected  the  mysterious  death  of  Mr.  Bar- 
rows with  the  family  towards  which  this  accu- 
sation evidently  pointed.  While  my  own  heart 
beat  with  dread,  how  could  I  ignore  the  possi- 
bility of  these  words  being  the  work  of  an  ac- 
complice disgusted  with  his  crime,  or  of  a  tool 
anxious  to  save  himself,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  avenge  some  fancied  slight  ?  I  could 
not.  If  peace  and  hope  were  lost  in  the 
effort,  I  must  learn  the  truth  and  satisfy  my- 
self, once  and  for  all,  as  to  whose  hatred  and 
fear  the  Pollards  were  indebted  for  insinua- 
tions at  once  so  tremendous  and  so  veiled. 

That  I  was  the  only  person  who  had  proba- 
bly seen  and  read  these  fatal  words,  lent  pur- 
pose to  my  resolution.  If,  as  I  madly  hoped, 
they  were  but  the  expression  of  suspicion, 
rather  than  of  knowledge,  what  a  satisfaction  it 
would  be  for  me  to  discover  the  fact,  and  pos- 
sibly unmask  the  cowardly  author,  before  the 
public  mind  had  been  infected  by  his  doubts. 

But  how  could  I,  a  woman  and  a  stranger, 
with  no  other  talisman  than  my  will  and 
patience,  accomplish  a  purpose  which  would 
be,  perhaps,  no    easy    one  for  a  trained  de- 


\ 


.  sf''> 


^'«jdi,.:;i\:ii 


An  Unexpected  Discovery, 


119 


my- 
and 


tective  to  carry  out  to  a  successful  issue? 
The  characters  in  which  the  fatal  insinuations 
had  been  conveyed  offered  no  clue.  They 
were  printed,  and  in  so  rough  and  common- 
place a  manner  that  the  keenest  mind  would 
have  found  itself  baffled  if  it  had  attempted  to 
trace  its  way  to  the  writer  through  the  mere 
medium  of  the  lines  he  had  transcribed.  I 
must,  therefore,  choose  some  other  means  of 
attaining  my  end  ;  but  what  one  ? 

I  had  never,  in  spite  o:  che  many  trials  and 
embarrassments  of  my  life,  been  what  is  called 
an  intriguing  woman.  Nor  had  I  ever  amused 
myself  with  forming  plots  or  devising  plans  for 
extricating  imaginary  characters  out  of  fancied 
difficulties  by  the  mere  exercise  of  their  wits. 
Finesse  was  almost  an  unknown  word  to  me, 
and  yet,  as  I  sat  there  with  this  fatal  bit  of  pa- 
per in  my  hand,  I  felt  that  a  power  hitherto 
unguessed  was  awakening  within  me,  and  that 
if  I  could  but  restrain  the  emot^'ons  which  threat- 
ened to  dissipat-^  my  thoughts,  I  should  yet  hit 
upon  a  plan  by  which  my  design  could  be  at- 
tained with  satisfaction  to  myself  and  safety  to 
others. 

For — and  this  was  my  first  idea — the  paper 


d 


*    ,1 


i'llkk 


(I 


w 


li 


mt. 


!t 

ft 

i 

T  , 
I 
i 

■t  ^' 
ip 

11*  •  Vi 


1 20 


r^^  Mz7/  Mystery, 


had  not  been  on  the  wall  long.  It  was  too 
fresh  to  have  hung  there  overnight,  and  had, 
moreover,  been  too  poorly  secured  to  have 
withstood  even  for  an  hour  the  assaults  of  a 
wind  as  keen  as  that  which  had  been  blowing 
all  the  morning.  It  had,  therefore,  been  put 
up  a  few  moments  before  I  came,  or,  in  other 
words,  while  the  funeral  services  were  being 
held  ;  a  fact  which,  to  my  mind,  argued  a  deep 
calculation  on  the  part  of  the  writer,  for  the 
hour  was  one  to  attract  all  wanderers  to  the 
other  end  of  the  town,  while  the  following  one 
would,  on  the  contrary,  see  this  quarter  over- 
flow with  human  beings,  anxious  to  complete 
the  impression  made  by  the  funeral  services, 
by  a  visit  to  the  scene  of  the  tragedy. 

That  the  sky  had  clouded  over  very  much  in 
the  last  half-hour,  and  that  the  first  drops  of  a 
heavy  thunder-shower  were  even  now  sifting 
through  the  branches  over  my  head,  was 
doubtless  the  reason  why  no  one  besides  myself 
had  yet  arrived  upon  the  scene  ;  and,  should 
the  storm  continue,  this  evil  might  yet  be 
averted,  and  the  one  person  I  was  most  anxious 
to  see,  have  an  opportunity  fo  show  himself  at 
the  place,  without  being  confounded  with  a 

-   V 


c  ; 


An  Unexpected  Discovery, 


121 


t 


mass  of  disinterested  people.  For  I  felt  he 
would  return,  and  soon,  to  note  the  result  of 
his  daring  action.  In  the  crowd,  if  a  crowd 
assembled,  or  alone,  if  it  so  chanced  that  no 
one  came  to  the  spot,  he  would  draw  near  the 
mill,  and,  if  he  found  the  notice  gone,  would 
betray,  must  betray,  an  interest  or  an  alarm 
that  would  reveal  him  to  my  watchful  eye. 
For  I  intended  to  take  up  my  stand  within  the 
doorway,  using,  if  necessary,  the  storm  as  my 
excuse  for  desiring  its  shelter  ;  while  as  a  pre- 
caution against  suspicions  that  might  be  dan- 
gerous to  me,  as  well  as  a  preventive  against 
any  one  else  ever  reading  these  accusatory 
lines,  I  determined  to  dip  the  paper  in  the 
stream,  and  then  drop  it  near  the  place  where 
it  had  been  tacked,  that  it  might  seem  as  if  it 
had  been  beaten  off  by  the  rain,  now  happily 
falling  faster  and  faster. 

All  this  I  did,  not  without  some  apprehen- 
sion of  being  observed  by  a  watchful  eye.  For 
what  surety  had  I  that  the  writer  of  these 
words  was  not  even  now  in  hidinof,  or  had  not 
been  looking  at  me  from  some  secret  retreat 
at  the  very  moment  I  tore  the  paper  off  the 
wall  and  fled  with  it  into  the  bushes  ? 


\ 


122 


tir 


'   'M 


i  Is 


i 


w 


1 1 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


But  this  fear,  if  fear  it  was,  was  gradually 
dispelled  as  the  moments  sped  by,  and  nothing 
beyond  the  wind  and  the  fast  driving  rain 
penetrated  to  where  I  stood.  Nor  did  it  look 
as  if  any  break  in  what  seemed  likely  to  be- 
come a  somewhat  dread  monotony  would  ever 
occur.  The  fierce  dash  of  the  storm  was  like 
a  barrier,  shutting  me  off  from  the  rest  of  the 
world,  and  had  my  purpose  been  less  serious, 
my  will  less  nerved,  I  might  have  succumbed 
to  the  dreariness  of  the  outlook  and  taken  my- 
self away  while  yet  the  gruesome  influences 
that  lay  crouched  in  the  darkness  at  my  back 
remained  in  abeyance,  and  neither  ghost's  step 
nor  man's  step  had  come  to  shake  the  founda- 
tions of  my  courage  and  make  of  my  silent 
watch  a  struggle  and  a  fear. 

But  an  intent  like  mine  was  not  to  be  re- 
linquished at  the  first  call  of  impatience  or 
dread.  Honor,  love,  and  duty  were  at  stake, 
and  I  held  to  my  resolution,  though  each 
passing  moment  made  it  more  difficult  to 
maintain  my  hope  as  well  as  to  sustain  my 
composure. 

At  last — oh,  why  did  that  hollow  of  dark- 
ness behind  me  reverberate  so  continually  in 


An  Unexpected  Discovery, 


123 


my  fancy? — there  seemed,  there  was,  a  move- 
ment in  the  bushes  by  the  road,  and  a  form 
crept  gradually  Into  sight  that,  when  half  seen, 
made  the  blood  cease  coursing  through  my 
veins  ;  and,  when  fully  in  view,  sent  it  in 
torrents  to  heart  and  brain  ;  so  deep,  so  vivid, 
so  peculiar  was  the  relief  I  felt.  For — realize 
the  effect  upon  me  if  you  can — the  figure  that 
now  stole  towards  me  through  the  dank  grass, 
looking  and  peering  for  the  notice  I  had  torn 
from  the  wall,  was  no  other  than  my  friend — 
or  was  it  my  enemy  ? — the  idiot  boy. 

He  was  soaked  with  the  rain,  but  he  seemed 
oblivious  of  the  fact.  For  him  the  wind  had 
evidently  no  fierceness,  the  wet  no  chill.  All 
his  energies — and  he  seemed,  as  in  that  first 
moment  when  I  saw  him  in  the  summer-house, 
to  be  alive  with  them — were  concentrated  in 
the  gaze  of  his  large  eyes,  as,  coming  nearer 
and  nearer,  he  searched  the  wall,  then  the 
ground,  and  finally,  with  a  leap,  picked  up  the 
soaked  and  useless  paper  which  I  had  dropped 
there. 

His  expression  as  he  raised  himself  and 
looked  fiercely  about  almost  made  me  reveal 
myself.     This  an  idiot,  this  trembling,  wrath- 


;'i. 


If 


;    ) 


I 


w 


0 


' 


'] 


124 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


ful,  denunciatory  figure,  with  its  rings  of  hair 
clinging  to  a  forehead  pale  with  passion  and 
corrugated  with  thought !  Were  these  gestures, 
sudden,  determined,  and  full  of  subdued  threat- 
ening, the  offspring  of  an  erratic  brain  or  the 
expression  of  a  fool's  hatred  ?  I  could  not  be- 
lieve it,  and  stood  as  if  fascinated  before  this 
vision,  that  not  only  upset  every  past  theory 
which  my  restless  mind  had  been  able  to  form 
of  the  character  and  motives  of  the  secret  de- 
nunciator of  the  Pollards,  but  awakened  new 
thoughts  and  new  inquiries  of  a  nature  which 
I  vaguely  felt  to  be  as  mysterious  as  any  which 
had  hitherto  engaged  my  attention. 

Meantime  the  boy  had  crushed  the  useless 
paper  in  his  hand,  and,  flinging  it  aside,  turned 
softly  about  as  if  to  go.  I  had  no  wish  to  de- 
tain him.  I  wished  to  make  inquiries  first,  and 
learn  if  possible  all  that  was  known, of  his 
history  and  circumstances  before  I  committed 
myself  to  an  interview.  If  he  were  an  idiot — 
well,  that  would  simplify  matters  much  ;  but,  if 
he  were  not,  or,  being  one,  had  moments  of 
reason,  then  a  mystery  appeared  that  would 
require  all  the  ingenuity  and  tact  of  a  Machia- 
velli  to  elucidate.     The  laugh  which  had  risen 


.i 


}- 


An  U^iexpecied  Discovery, 


125 


from  the  shrubbery  the  night  before,  and  the 
look  which  Dwight  Pollard  had  given  when  he 
heard  it,  proved  that  a  mystery  did  exist,  and 
gave  me  strength  to  let  the  boy  vanish  from 
my  sight  with  his  secret  unsolved  and  his  pur- 
poses unguessed.  , 


mid 

lia- 

Isen 


II 


t 


f 

Pi 


'J  ■: 


Ih 


)i 


X. 


RHODA    COLWELL. 
I  spare  you  common  curses. — Mrs.  Browning. 

IT  was  not  long  after  this  that  the  storm 
began  to  abate.  Sunshine  took  the  place 
of  clouds,  and  I  was  enabled  to  make  my  way 
back  to  the  town  at  the  risk  of  nothing  worse 
than  wet  feet.  I  went  at  once  to  my  boarding- 
house.  Though  I  was  expected  back  at  the 
Pollards',  though  my  presence  seemed  almost 
necessary  there,  !  felt  that  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  me  to  enter  their  door  till  something 
of  the  shad'^w  that  now  enveloped  their  name 
had  fallen  away.  I  therefore  sent  them  word 
that  unlooked-for  circumstances  compelled  me 
to  remain  at  home  for  the  present  ;  and  having 
thus  dismissed  one  anxiety  from  my  mind,  set 
myself  to  the  task  of  gleaning  what  knowledge 
I  could  of  the  idiot  boy. 

The  result  was  startling.    He  was,  it  seemed, 
a  real  idiot — or  so  had  always  been  regarded 


126 


\ 


I  J 


m 


:;« 


Rhoda  CohvelL 


127 


the 
nost 
pos- 
ing 
me 
ord 
me 
ing 
set 


i^y  those  who  had  known  him  from  his  birth. 
Not  one  of  the  ugly,  mischievous  sort,  but  a 
gentle,  chuckling,  vacant-brained  bo}  vvho 
loved  to  run  the  streets  and  mingle  his  1  .rm- 
less  laughter  with  the  shouts  of  playing 
children  and  the  noise  of  mills  and  manu- 
factories. 

He  was  an  orphan,  but  was  neither  poor  nor 
dependent,  for — and  here  was  where  the  fact 
came  in  that  astonished  me — he  had  for  pro- 
tector a  twin  sister  whose  wits  were  as  acute 
as  his  were  dull  ;  a  sister  who  through  years 
of  orphanage  had  cherished  and  supported  him, 
working  sometimes  for  that  purpose  in  the  fac- 
tories, and  sometimes  simply  with  her  needle 
at  home.  They  lived  in  a  nest  of  a  cottage  on 
the  edge  of  the  town,  and  had  the  sympathy 
of  all,  though  not  perhaps  the  full  liking  of 
any.  For  Rhoda,  the  sister,  was  a  being  of 
an  unique  order,  who,  while  arousing  the  inter- 
est of  a  few,  baffled  the  comprehension  of  the 
many.  She  was  a  problem  ;  a  creature  out  of 
keeping  with  her  belongings  and  the  circum- 
stances in  which  she  was  placed.  An  airy, 
lissom,  subtle  specimen  of  woman,  whose  very 
beauty  was  of  an  unknown  order,  causing  as 


_ 


iti 


''  \^ 


■h 


n 


128 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery. 


much  inquiry  as  admiration.  A  perfect  blonde 
like  her  brother,  she  had  none  of  the  sweetness 
and  fragility  that  usually  accompanies  this 
complexion.  On  the  contrary,  there  was  some- 
thing bizarre  in  her  whole  appearance,  and  es- 
pecially in  the  peculiar  expression  of  her  eye, 
that  awakened  the  strangest  feelings  and  pro- 
duced even  in  the  minds  of  those  who  saw  her 
engaged  in  the  most  ordinary  occupations  of 
life  an  impression  of  remoteness  that  almost 
amounted  to  the  uncanny.  The  fact  that  she 
affected  brilliant  colors  and  clothed  both  her- 
self and  brother  in  garments  of  a  wellnigh  fan- 
tastic make,  added  to  this  impression,  and  gave 
perhaps  some  excuse  to  those  persons  who 
regarded  her  as  being  as  abnormally  con- 
stituted as  her  brother,  finding  it  impossible,  I 
suppose,  to  reconcile  waywardness  with  indus- 
try, and  a  taste  for  the  rich  and  beautiful  with 
a  poverty  so  respectable,  it  scarcely  made  itself 
known  for  the  reality  it  was.  A  blonde  gypsy 
some  called  her,  a  dangerous  woman  some 
others  ;  and  the  latter  would  undoubtedly  have 
been  correct  had  the  girl  possessed  less  pride 
of  independence  or  been  unhampered,  as 
she  was  untrammelled,  by  the  sense  of  respon- 


Rhoda  ColwelL 


129 


psy             , 

1 

me 

a.ve 

Ide 

1 

as 

on- 

\ 

r 

sibility  towards  her  imbecile  brother.  As  it 
was,  more  than  one  mother  had  had  reason  to 
ask  why  her  son  wore  such  a  moody  brow  after 
returning  from  a  certain  quarter  of  the  town, 
and  at  one  time  gossip  had  not  hesitated  to  de- 
clare that  D wight  Pollard — the  haughty  Dw'ght 
Pollard — had  not  been  ashamed  to  be  seen  en- 
tering her  door,  though  every  one  knew  that  no 
one  stepped  under  its  wreath  of  vines  except 
their  intentions  were  as  honorable  as  the  beauty, 
if  not  the  poverty,  of  its  owner  demanded. 

When  I  heard  this,  and  heard  also  that  he 
visited  her  no  more,  I  seemed  to  have  gained 
some  enlightenment  as  to  the  odd  and  contra- 
dictory actions  of  my  famous  idiot  boy.  He 
loved  his  sister,  and  was  in  some  way  imbued 
with  a  sense  that  she  had  been  wronofed.  He 
was,  therefore,  jealous  of  any  one  who  had,  or 
seemed  to  have,  gained  the  attention  of  the 
man  who  had  possibly  forsaken  her.  Yet  even 
with  this  explanation  of  his  conduct,  there  was 
much  for  which  I  could  not  accoifnt,  making 
my  intended  interview  with  the  sister  a  matter 
to   be  more  or  less  apprehended. 

It  was  therefore  wlih  a  composure  altogether 
outward  and  superficial  that  I  started  for  the 


>4J. 


1 


^■1 


If1 


1^  u 


•  if 


»l 


w 


>} 


130 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery. 


quaint  and  tiny  cottage  which  had  been  pointed 
out  to  me  as  the  abode  of  these  remarkable 
twins.  I  reached  it  just  as  the  clock  struck 
three,  and  was  immediately  impressed,  as  my 
informants  evidently  expected  me  to  be,  by  the 
air  of  poetry  and  refinement  that  characterized 
even  its  humble  exterior.  But  it  was  not  till 
I  had  knocked  at  the  door  and  been  ushered 
into  the  house  by  the  idiot  brother,  that  my 
real  astonishment  began.  For  though  the 
room  in  which  I  found  myself  did  not,  as  I  was 
afterwards  assured,  contain  a  single  rich  article, 
it  certainly  had  the  effect  of  luxuriousness  upon 
the  eye  ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  my  inward 
agitation  and  suspense,  would  have  produced  a 
sense  of  languid  pleasure,  scarcely  to  be  looked 
for  in  the  abode  of  a  simple  working-girl.  As  it 
was,  I  was  dimly  conscious  of  a  slight  relief  in 
the  keen  tension  of  my  feelings,  and  turned 
with  almost  a  sensation  of  hope  to  the  boy  who 
was  smiling  and  grimacing  beside  me.  But 
here  another  shock  awaited  me,  for  this  boy 
was  not  the  one  I  had  seen  at  the  mill  barely 
two  hours  ago,  or,  rather,  if  it  were  the 
same — and  the  identity  of  his  features,  figure, 
and  dress  with  those  I  knew  so  well,  seemed 


'U 


I 


Rlioda  ColwelL 


131 


my 
the 


% 


to  proclaim  him  to  be — he  was  in  such  a  differ- 
ent mood  now  as  to  appear  like  another  being. 
Laughing,  merry,  and  inane,  he  bore  on  his 
brow  no  sign  nor  suggestion  of  the  fierce  pas- 
sion I  had  seen  there,  nor  did  his  countenance 
change,  though  I  looked  at  him  steadily  and 
long  with  a  gaze  that  was  any  thing  but  in 
keeping  with  his  seemingly  innocent  mirth. 

"  It  is  not  the  boy  I  have  known,"  I  sudden- 
ly decided  in  my  mind  ;  and  I  cannot  say  in 
what  wild  surmises  I  might  have  indulged,  if 
at  that  moment  the  door  at  my  back  had  not 
opened  and  a  figure  stepped  in  which  at  the  first 
glance  attracted  my  whole  attention  and  ab- 
sorbed all  my  thought.  V, 

Imagine  a  woman,  lithe,  blonde,  beautiful, 
intense  ;  writh  features  regular  as  the  carver's 
hand  could  make  them,  but  informed  with  a 
spirit  so  venomous,  passionate,  and  perverse, 
that  you  lost  sight  of  her  beauty  in  your  won- 
der at  the  formidable  nature  of  the  character 
she  betrayed.  Then  see  her  dressed  as  no 
other  woman  ever  dressed  before,  in  a  robe  of 
scarlet  of  a  cut  and  make  quite  its  own,  and 
conceive,  if  you  can,  the  agitation  I  felt  as  I 
realized  that  in  her  I  beheld  my  rival,  my  an- 


r\^ 


1!    !■ 


'A 


I 
I 


!  rl 


t     I 


I      ,|1 


J 


;i 


\^ 


,ii 


132 


r^^  J/^7/  Mystery. 


tagonist,  the  enemy  of  Dwight  Pollard's  peace 
and  mine. 

That  her  face,  even  the  hatred  that  visibly 
contracted  it  as  her  eyes  met  mine,  were  famil- 
iar to  me  in  the  countenance  and  expression  of 
the  boy  I  had  met,  went  for  nothing.  The 
beauty  and  malice  of  a  seeming  imbecile,  and 
the  same  characteristics  in  a  woman  subtle  and 
decided  as  this,  awaken  very  different  emo- 
tions in  the  mind.  Though  I  had  seen  that 
same  brow  corrugated  before,  it  was  like  a 
revelation  to  behold  it  now,  and  watch  how  the 
rosy  lips  took  a  straight  line  and  the  half-shut, 
mysterious  eyes  burned  like  a  thread  of  light, 
as  she  stretched  out  one  white  hand  and  asked 
half  imperiously,  half  threateningly  : 

**  Who  are  you,  and  for  what  do  you  come 
to  me  ?  "      - 

"  I  am  Constance  Sterling,"  I  retorted,  satis- 
fied that  nothing  short  of  the  heroic  treatment 
would  avail  with  this  woman  ;  **  and  if  I  do 
not  mistake,  I  think  you  know  very  well  why 
I  come  here." 

"  Indeed ! "  came  in  something  like  a  hiss 
from  between  her  ret  lips.  And  in  one  short 
instant  all  that  was  best  in  her  and  all  that  was 


i 


Rhoda  ColwelL 


133 


worst  became  suddenly  visible,  as  turning  to 
her  softly  chuckling  brother,  she  motioned  him 
gently  out  of  the  room,  and  then  turning  to 
me,  advanced  a  step  and  said  :  "  Will  you  ex- 
plain yourself.  Miss — or  is  it  Mrs.  Constance 
Sterling  ?  " 

"■  I  will  explain  myself,"  I  returned,  wonder- 
ing, as  T  saw  her  cheeks  pale  and  her  eyes  emit 
strange  and  fitful  sparks,  if  I  exerted  any  such 
influence  over  her  as  she  did  over  me.  "  I  said 
I  thought  you  knew  why  I  came  here.  I  said 
this,  because  this  is  not  the  first  time  we  have 
met,  nor  am  I  the  tirst  one  who  has  presumed 
to  address  the  other  in  a  tone  that  to  a 
sensitive  ear  sounded  like  menace.  The  idiot 
boy " 

**  We  will  leave  my  brother  out  of  the  dis- 
cussion," she  broke  in,  in  a  voice  so  distinct  I 
scarcely  noticed  that  it  was  nothing  but  a 
whisper. 

'*  I  am  not  alluding  to  your  brother,"  I  de- 
clared, meeting  her  eyes  with  a  look  steady  as 
her  own,  and  I  hope  more  open. 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  she  murmured  ;  and  she  took 
another  step,  while  the  flash  of  her  glance  cut 
like  a  knife.      "  You  accuse  me  then " 


1(1  ■ 


I! 


:, 


I 


r  4 


i   !: 


^\ 


134 


TAe  Mill  Mystery. 


**  Of  assuming  a  disguise  to  spy  upon 
D wight  Pollard." 

It  was  a  well-sped  shaft,  and  quivered  alive 
and  burning  in  her  heart  of  hearts.  She  gave 
a  spring  like  the  panther  she  seemed  at  chat 
minute,  but  instantly  recovered  herself,  and 
launching  upon  me  the  strangest  smile,  mock- 
ingly exclaimed  : 

"You  are  a  brave  woman."  Then  as  I  did 
not  quail  before  her  passion,  drew  up  her  slight 
figure  to  its  height  and  said  :  **  We  are  worthy 
of  (  ich  other,  you  and  I.  Tell  me  what  you 
want." 

Then  I  felt  my  own  cheek  turn  pale,  and  I 
was  fam  to  sit  upon  the  pjle  of  cushions  that 
were  arranged  in  one  corner  for  a  seat. 

'*  What  I  want  ?  "  I  repeated.  **  I  want  to 
know  how  you  dared  put  in  language  the  in- 
sinuations which  you  hung  up  on  the  door  of 
the  old  mill  this  morning  ?  " 

Her  eyes,  narrowed,  as  I  have  said,  in  her 
seemingly  habitual  desire  to  keep  their  secrets 
to  herself,  flashed  wide  open  at  this,  while  a 
low  and  mirthless  laugh  escaped  her  lips. 

"  So  my  labor  was  not  entirely  wasted  ! " 
she  cried.     "You  sav/ " 


Rhoda  ColwelL 


135 


"  Both  the  lines  and  the  writer,"  I  completed, 
relentlessly  preserving  the  advantage  I  felt 
myself  to  have  gained — "  the  lines  before  they 
were  defaced  by  the  storm,  the  writer  as  she 
picked  up  the  useless  paper  and  went  away." 

''  So  ! "  she  commented,  with  another  echo 
of  that  joyless  laughter  ;  *'  there  are  two  spies 
instead  of  one  in  this  game  !  " 

"  There  are  two  women  instead  of  one  who 
know  your  enmity  and  purpose,"  I  retorted. 

'^  How  came  you  at  the  mill  ?  "  she  suddenly 
asked,  after  a  moment  of  silent  communion 
with  her  own  repressed  soul. 

*'  By  accident,"  was  all  my  reply. 

**  Were  you  alone  ?  "  % 

"  I  was." 

'*  Then  no  one  but  yourself  saw  the  paper  ?  " 

"  No  one  but  myself." 

She  gave  me  a  look  I  made,  no  sign  of  un- 
derstanding. 

"  Have  you  told  any  one  of  what  you  saw 
and  read  ? "  she  inquired  at  last,  as  she  per- 
ceived I  meant  to  volunteer  nothing. 

"  That  I  am  not  called  upon  to  state,"  I 
returned. 

"  Oh,  you  would  play  the  lawyer ! "  was  her 
icy  and  quiet  remark. 


136 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


\\ 


**  I  would^lay  nothing,"  was  the  answer  that 
came  from  my  lips.  • 

She  drew  'back,  and  a  change  passed  over 
her. 

Slowly  as  a  fire  is  kindled,  the  passion  grew 
and  grew  on  her  face.  When  it  was  at  its 
height  she  leaned  her  two  hands  on  a  table 
that  stood  between  us,  and,  bending  forward, 
whispered  : 

*'  Do  you  love  him  ?  Are  you  going  to  fight 
to  keep  his  name  free  from  stain  and  his  posi- 
tion unassailed  before  the  world  ?  " 

Believe  me  if  you  can,  but  I  could  not  an- 
swer ;  possibly  because  I  had  as  yet  no  answer 
to  the  question  in  my  soul. 

She  took  advantage  of  my  hesitation. 

"  Perhaps  you  think  it  is  not  worth  while  to 
fight  me  ;  that  I  have  no  real  weapons  at  my 
command?"  and  her  eyes  shot  forth  a  flame 
that  devoured  my  rising  hopes  and  seared  my 
heart  as  with  a  fiery  steel. 

"  I  thiiik  you  are  a  cruel  woman,"  I  declared, 
**  anxious  to  destroy  what  no  longer  gives  you 
pleasure." 

"  You  know  my  story  then  ?"  she  whispered. 
**  He  has  talked  about  me,  and  to  you  ?  " 


RJioda  Colwell. 


137 


over 


"No,"  I  replied,  in  quiet  disdain.  "  I  know 
nothing  save  what  your  own  eyes  and  your 
conduct  tell  me." 

"  Then  you  shall,"  she  murmured,  after  a 
moment's  scrutiny  of  my  face.  "  You  shall 
hear  how  I  have  been  loved,  and  how  I  have 
been  forsaken.  Perhaps  it  will  help  you  to 
appreciate  the  man  who  is  likely  to  wreck  both 
our  lives." 

I  must  have  lifted  my  head  at  this,  for  she 
paused  and  gave  me  a  curious  look. 

"  You  don't  love  him  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  I  shall  not  let  him  wreck  my  life,"  I  re- 
sponded. 

Her  lip  curled  and  her  two  hands  closed 
violently  at  her  sides. 

**You  have  not  known  him  long,"  she  de- 
clared. "  You  have  not  seen  him  at  your  feet, 
or  heard  his  voice,  as  day  by  day  he  pleaded 
more  and  more  passionately  for  a  void  or 
smile  ?     You  have  not  known  his  torch  !  " 

"  No,"  I  impetuously  cried,  fai^cinated  by 
her  glance  and  tone. 

I  thought  she  looked  relieved,  and  realized 
that  her  words  might  have  been  as  much  an 
inquiry  as  an  assertion. 


I^ 


8 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


^ 


\ 


"  Then  do  not  boast,"  she  said. 

The  blood  that  was  in  my  cheeks  went  out 
of  them.  I  felt  my  eyes  close  spasmodically, 
and  hurriedly  turned  away  my  head.  She 
watched  me  curiously. 

"  Do  you  think  I  succumbed  without  a 
struggle  ? "  she  vehemently  asked,  after  a 
moment  or  two  of  this  silent  torture.  "  Look 
at  me.  Am  I  a  woman  to  listen  to  the  pas- 
sionate avowals  of  the  first  man  that  happens 
to  glance  my  way  and  imagine  he  would  like 
to  have  me  for  his  wife  ?  Is  a  handsome  face 
and  honeyed  tongue  sufficient  to  gain  my  good 
graces,  even  when  it  is  backed  by  the  wealth 
I  love  and  the  position  to  which  I  feel  myself 
equal  ?  I  tell  you  you  do  not  know  Rhoda 
Colwell,  if  you  think  she  could  be  won  easily. 
Days  and  days  he  haunted  this  room  before  I 
let  his  words  creep  much  beyond  my  ears.  I 
had  a  brother  who  needed  all  my  care  and  all 
my  affection,  and  I  did  not  mean  to  marry, 
much  less  to  love.  But  slowly  and  by  degrees 
he  got  a  hold  upon  my  heart,  and  then,  like  the 
wretch  who  trusts  himself  to  the  maelstrom,  I 
was  swept  round  and  round  into  the  whirlpool 
of  passion  till  not  earth  nor  heaven  could  save 


Rhoda  ColwelL 


139 


nt  out 

ically, 

She 

out   a 

ter    a 

Look 

i  pas- 

pperis 

I  like 

i  face 

good 

ealth 

yself 

hoda 

isily. 

Die  I 

5.     I 

dall 

irry, 

rees 

:  the 

m,  I 

DOol 


me  or  make  me  again  the  free  and  light-hearted 
girl  I  was.  This  was  two  years  ago,  and  to- 
day  " 

She  stopped,  choked.  I  had  never  seen 
greater  passion,  as  I  had  never  seen  a  more 
fiery  nature. 

"  It  is  his  persistency  I  complain  of,"  she 
murmured  at  last.  ''He  forced  me  to  love 
him.  Had  he  left  me  when  I  first  said  '  No,' 
I  could  have  looked  down  on  his  face  to-day 
with  contempt.  But,  no,  he  had  a  fancy  that 
I  was  his  destiny,  and  that  he  must  possess 
me  or  die.  Die  ?  He  would  not  even  let  me 
die  when  I  found  that  my  long-sought  *  Yes  ' 
turned  his  worship  into  indifference,  and  his 
passion  into  constraint.  But — "  she  suddenly 
cried,  with  a  repetition  of  that  laugh  which 
now  sounded  so  fearful  in  my  ears — "all  this 
does  not  answer  your  question  as  to  how  I 
dared  publish  the  insinuations  I  tacked  up  on 
the  mill-door  this  morning." 

"  No,"  I  shudderingly  cried. 

"  Ah  !  I  have  waited  long,"  she  passionately 
asserted.  "  Wrongs  like  mine  are  very  patient, 
and  are  very  still,  but  the  time  comes  at  last 
when  even  a  woman  weak  and  frail  as  I  am 


\\ 


I 


I 


Ill 


140 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery 


can  lift  her  hand  in  power  ;  and  when  she  does 
lift  it " 

**  Hush  !  "  I  exclaimed,  bounding  from  my 
seat  and  seizing  her  upraised  arm ;  for  her 
vivid  figure  seemed  to  emit  a  flame  like  death. 
"■  Hush  !  we  want  no  tirades,  you  nor  I  ;  only 
let  me  hear  what  Dwight  Pollard  has  done, 
and  whether  you  knew  what  you  were  saying 
when  you  called  him  and  his  family " 

"  Murderers  !  "  she  completed. 

I  shook,  but  bowed  my  head.  She  loosed 
her  arm  from  my  grasp  and  stood  for  one  mo- 
ment contemplating  me. 

''You  are  a  powerful  rival,"  she  murmured. 
"  He  will  love  you  just  six  months  longer  than 
he  did  me." 

I  summoned  up  at  once  my  pride  and  my 
composure. 

"  And  that  would  be  just  six  months  too 
long,"  I  averred,  "if  he  is  what  you  declare 
him  to  be." 

"  What  ?  "  came  from  between  her  set  teeth, 
and  she  gave  a  spring  that  brought  her  close 
to  my  side.  "You  would  hate  him,  if  I  proved 
to  you  that  he  and  his  brother  and  his  mother 
were  the  planners,  if  not  the  executors,  of  Mr. 
Barrows'  death." 


^W- 


Rhoda  ColwelL 


141 


my 


"  Hate  him?"  I  repeated,  recoiling,  all  my 
womanhood  up  in  arms  before  the  fearful  joy 
expressed  in  her  voice  and  attitude.  "  I  should 
try  and  forget  such  a  man  ever  existed.  But 
I  shall  not  be  easily  convinced,"  I  continued, 
as  I  saw  her  lips  open  with  a  sort  of  eager  hope 
terrible  to  witness.  "  You  are  too  anxious  to 
kill  my  love." 

"Oh,  you  will  be  convinced,"  she  asserted. 
*'  Ask  Dwight  Pollard  what  sort  of  garments 
those  are  which  lie  under  the  boards  of  the 
old  mill,  and  see  if  he  can  answer  you  without 
trembling." 

'*  Garments  ?  "  I  repeated,  in  astonishment ; 
"•  garments  ? "  ^  sv 

"  Yes,"  said  she.  **  If  he  can  hear  you  ask 
that  question  and  not  turn  pale,  stop  me  in  my 
mad  assertions,  and  fear  his  doom  no  more. 
But  if  he  flinches " 

A  frightful  smile  closed  up  the  gap,  and  she 
seemed  by  a  look  to  motion  me  towards  the 
door. 

"  But  is  that  all  you  are  going  to  tell  me  ?  " 
I  queried,  dismayed  at  the  prospect  of  our 
interview  terminating  thus. 

**  Is  it  not  enough?"  she  asked.     "When 


:'5 


I 


142 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


I'Hl 


you  have  seen  kim^  I  will  seej^^^^  again.  Can 
you  not  wait  for  that  hour  ?  " 

I  might  have  answered  No.  I  was  tempted 
to  do  so,  as  I  had  been  tempted  more  than 
once  to  exert  the  full  force  of  my  spirit  and 
crush  her.  But  I  had  an  indomitable  pride  of 
my  own,  and  did  not  wish  to  risk  even  the 
semblance  of  defeat.  So  I  controlled  myself 
and  merely  replied  : 

**  I  do  not  desire  to  see  D wight  Pollard 
again.  I  am  not  intending  to  return  to  his 
house.'* 

"  And  yet  you  will  see  him,"  she  averred. 
**  I  can  easily  be  patient  till  then."  And  she 
cast  another  look  of  dismissal  towards  the 
door. 

"  You  are  a  demon  I "  I  felt  tempted  to 
respond,  but  my  own  dignity  restrained  me 
as  well  as  her  beauty,  which  was  something 
absolutely  dazzling  in  its  intensity  and  fire.  *'  I 
will  have  the  truth  from  you  yet,"  was  what  I 
did  say,  as  I  moved,  heart-sick  and  desponding, 
from  her  side. 

And  her  slow  "  No  doubt,"  seemed  to  fill  up 
the  silence  like  a  knell,  and  give  to  my  home- 
ward journey  a  terror  and  a  pang  which  proved 


>ted  to 
led  me 
lething 

re.  *'I 
what  I 
onding, 


o  fill  up 
r  home- 
proved 


Rhoda  ColwelL 


143 


Can 

mpted 
I  than 
it  and 
ride  of 
-n  the 
myself 

Pollard 
to  his 

verred. 
nd  she 
ds  the 


that  however  I  had  deceived  myself,  hope  had 
not  quite  given  up  its  secret  hold  upon  my 
heart. 

And  I  dreamed  of  her  that  night,  and  in  my 
dream  her  evil  beauty  shone  so  triumphantly 
that  my  greatest  wonder  was  not  that  Dwight 
Pollard  had  succumbed  to  her  fascinations,  but 
that  having  once  seen  the  glint  of  that  subtle 
soul  shine  from  between  those  half-shut  lids, 
he  could  ever  have  found  strength  to  turn 
aside  and  let  the  fire  he  had  roused  burn  itself 
away. 


.I 


! 


r',  ft! 


1  i  hi 


l 


: 

': 


XL 


UNDER   THE    MILL    FLOOR. 
I  know,  this  act  shows  terrible  and  grim. — Othello. 

I  HAD  never  considered  myself  a  coura- 
geous person.  I  was  therefore  surprised  at 
my  own  temerity  when,  with  the  morning  light, 
came  an  impulse  to  revisit  the  old  mill,  and  by 
an  examination  of  its  flooring,  satisfy  myself 
as  to  whether  it  held  in  hiding  any  such  articles 
as  had  been  alluded  to  by  Rhoda  Colwell  in 
the  remarkable  interview  just  cited.  Not  that 
I  intended  to  put  any  such  question  to  Dwight 
Pollard  as  she  had  suggested,  or,  indeed,  had 
any  intentions  at  all  beyond  the  present.  The 
outlook  was  too  vague,  my  own  mind  too 
troubled,  for  me  to  concoct  plans  or  to  make 
any  elaborate  determinations.  I  could  only 
perform  the  duty  of  the  moment,  and  this  visit 
seemed  to  me  to  be  a  duty,  though  not  one  of 
the  pleasantest  or  even  of  the  most  promising 
character. 

'         M4 


Under  the  Mill  Floor, 


145 


coura- 
Ised  at 

;  light, 

ind  by 
nyself 
rticles 
/-ell  in 
)t  that 
wight 
d,  had 

The 
d  too 
make 

only 
s  visit 
)ne  of 
nising 


I  had  therefore  risen  and  was  preparing  my- 
self in  an  abstracted  way  for  breakfast,  when  I 
was  violently  interrupted  by  a  resounding 
knock  at  the  door.  Alarmed,  I  scarcely  knew 
why,  I  hastened  to  open  it,  and  fell  back  in 
very  visible  astonishment  when  I  beheld  stand- 
ing before  me  no  less  a  person  than  Anice,  the 
late  Mrs.  Pollard's  maid. 

'*  I  wanted  to  see  you,  miss,"  she  said,  com- 
ing in  without  an  invitation,  and  carefully  clos- 
ing the  door  behind  her.  **  So,  as  I  had  leave 
to  attend  early  mass  this  morning,  I  just  slipped 
over  here,  which,  if  it  is  a  liberty,  I  hope  you 
will  pardon,  seeing  it  is  for  your  own  good." 

Not  much  encouraged  by  this  preamble,  I 
motioned  her  to  take  a  seat,  and  then,  turning 
my  back  to  her,  went  on  arranging  my  hair. 

"  I  cannot  imagine  what  errand  you  have 
with  me,  Anice,"  said  I  ;  "  but  if  it  is  any  thing 
important,  let  me  hear  it  at  once,  as  I  have  an 
engagement  this  morning,  and  am  in  haste." 

A  smile,  which  I  could  plainly  see  in  the 
mirror  before  which  I  stood,  passed  slyly  over 
her  face.  vShe  took  up  her  parasol  from  her 
lap,  then  laid  it  down  again,  and  altogether 
showed  considerable    embarrassment.     But  it 


■I 


146 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


did  not  last  long,  and  in  another  moment  she 
was  saying,  in  quite  a  bold  way : 

"  You  took  my  place  beside  the  mistress  I 
loved,  but  /  don't  bear  you  no  grudge,  miss. 
On  the  contrary,  I  would  do  you  a  good  turn  ; 
for  what  are  we  here  for,  miss,  if  it 's  not  to 
help  one  another  ? " 

As  I  had  no  answer  for  this  worthy  senti- 
ment, she  lapsed  again  into  her  former  embar- 
rassed state  and  as  speedily  recovered  from  it. 
Simpering  in  a  manner  that  unconsciously  put 
me  on  my  guard,  she  remarked  : 

*'  You  left  us  very  suddenly  yesterday,,  miss. 
Of  course  that  is  your  own  business,  and  I 
have  nothing  to  say  against  it.  But  I  thought 
if  you  knew  what  might  be  gained  by  staying 

"     She  paused  and  gave  me  a  look  that 

was  almost  like  an  appeal. 

But  I  would  not  help  her  out. 

*'  Why,"  she  went  on  desperately,  with  a 
backward  toss  of  her  head,  **  you  might  think 
as  how  we  was  not  such  very  bad  folks  after  all. 
I  am  sure  you  would  make  a  very  nice  mistress 
to  work  for,  Miss  Sterling,"  she  simpered ; 
**  and  if  you  would  just  let  me  help  you  with 
your  hair  as  I  did  old  Mrs.  Pollard " 


Under  the  Mill  Floor, 


147 


It  she 

ress  I 
miss, 
turn ; 

lot  to 

senti- 
:mbar- 
om  it. 
,ly  put 

,.  miss, 
and  I 
lought 
laying 
k  that 


with  a 
:  think 
"ter  all. 
istress 
Dered ; 
with 


Angry,  mortified,  and  ashamed  of  myself  that 
I  had  listened  to  her  so  far,  I  turned  on  her 
with  a  look  that  seemed  to  make  some  impres- 
sion even  upon  her. 

"  How  dare  you — "  I  began,  then  paused, 
shocked  at  my  own  imprudence  in  thus  betray- 
ing the  depth  of  the  feelings  she  had  aroused. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  immediately  added, 
recovering  my  composure  by  a  determined 
effort ;  ''you  doubtless  did  not  consider  that 
you  are  not  in  a  position  to  speak  such  words 
to  me.  Even  if  your  insinuations  meant  any 
thing  serious,  which  I  will  not  believe,  our 
acquaintance  " — I  am  afraid  I  threw  some  sar- 
casm into  that  word — ■'*•  has  scarcely  been  long 
enough  to  warrant  you  in  approaching  me  on 
any  subject  of  a  personal  nature,  least  of  all  one 
that  involves  the  names  of  those  you  live  with 
and  have  served  so  long.  If  you  have  nothing 
better  to  say " 

She  rose  with  a  jerk  that  seemed  to  my  eyes 
as  much  an  expression  c  f  disappointment  as 
anger,  and  took  a  reluctant  step  or  two  towards 
the  door. 

"  I  am  sure  I  meant  no  offence,  miss,"  she 
stammered,  and  took  another  step  still  more 
reluctantly  than  before. 


148 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


*l 


\ 


\  w 


I  trembled.  Outrageous  as  it  may  seem,  I 
wished  at  this  moment  that  honor  and  dignity 
would  allow  me  to  call  her  back  and  question 
her  as  to  the  motive  and  meaning  of  her  extra- 
ordinary conduct.  For  the  thought  had  sud- 
denly struck  me  that  she  might  be  a  messenger 
— a  most  unworthy  and  humiliating  one  it  is 
true, — ^and  yet  in  some  sort  of  a  way  a  messen- 
ger, and  my  curiosity  rose  just  in  proportion  as 
my  pride  rebelled. 

Anice,  who  was  not  lacking  in  wit,  evidently 
felt,  if  she  could  not  see,  the  struggle  she  had 
awakened  in  my  mind,  for  she  turned  and  gave 
me  a  look  I  no  longer  had  the  courage  to 
resent. 

"  It  is  only  something  I  overheard  Mr.  Guy 
say  to  his  brother,"  she  faltered,  opening  and 
shutting  her  parasol  with  a  nervous  hand;  then, 
as  I  let  my  hair  suddenly  fall  from  my  grasp,  in 
the  rush  of  relief  I  felt,  blurted  out :  ''  You  have 
beautiful  hair,  miss  ;  I  don't  wonder  Mr.  Guy 
should  say,  *  One  of  us  two  must  marry  that 
girl,' "  and  was  gone  like  a  flash  from  the  room, 
leaving  me  in  a  state  that  bordered  on  stupe- 
faction. 

This  incident,  so  suggestive,  and,  alas !    so 


Under  the  Mill  Floor, 


149 


degrading  to  my  self-esteem,  produced  a  deep 
and  painful  effect  on  my  mind.  For  hours  I 
could  not  rid  my  ears  of  that  final  sentence  : 
**  One  of  us  two  must  marry  that  girl."  Nor 
could  the  events  that  speedily  followed  quite 
remove  from  my  mind  and  heart  the  sting 
which  this  knowledge  of  the  Pollards'  base  cal- 
culation and  diplomacy  had  implanted.  It  had 
one  favorable  consequence,  however.  It  nerved 
me  to  carry  out  the  expedition  I  had  planned, 
and  gave  to  my  somewhat  failing  purpose  a 
heart  of  steel. 

The  old  mill  to  which  I  have  twice  carried 
you,  and  to  which  I  must  carry  you  again,  was, 
as  I  have  already  said,  a  dilapidated  and  much- 
dismantled  structure.  Though  its  walls  were 
intact,  many  of  its  staircases  were  rotten,  while 
its  flooring  was,  as  I  knew,  heavily  broken  away 
in  spots,  making  it  a  dangerous  task  to  walk 
about  its  passage-ways,  or  even  to  enter  the 
arge  and  solitary  rooms  which  once  shook  to 
the  whirr  and  hum  of  machinery. 

But  it  was  not  from  such  dangers  as  these  I 
recoiled.  If  Heaven  would  but  protect  me  from 
discovery  and  the  possible  intrusion  of  unwel- 
come visitants,  I  would  willingly  face  the  peril 


I50 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


i 


-Hi 


f 


P   1 

t       .1 


of  a  fall  even  in  a  place  so  lonesome  and 
remote.  Indeed,  my  one  source  of  gratitude  as 
I  sped  through  the  streets  that  morning  lay  in 

the  fact,  I  was  so  little  known  in  S ,  I  could 

pass  and  re-pass  without  awakening  too  much 
comment,  especially  when  I  wore  a  close  veil, 
as  I  did  on  this  occasion. 

Rhoda  Colwell's  house  lay  in  my  way.  I 
took  especial  pains  not  to  go  by  it,  great  as  the 
relief  would  have  been  to  know  she  was  at 
home  and  not  wandering  the  streets  in  the 
garb  and  character  of  the  idiot  boy.  Though 
I  felt  I  could  not  be  deceived  as  to  her  iden- 
tity, the  mere  thought  of  meeting  her,  with 
that  mock  smile  of  imbecility  upon  her  lip, 
filled  me  with  a  dismay  that  made  my  walk 
any  thing  but  agreeable.  It  was  consequently 
a  positive  relief  when  the  entrance  to  the  mill 
broke  upon  my  view,  and  I  found  myself 
at  my  journey's  end  unwatched  and  ukifol- 
lowed  ;  nor  could  the  unpromising  nature  of 
my  task  quite  dash  the  spirit  with  which  I 
began  my  search. 

My  first  efforts  were  in  a  room  which  had 
undoubtedly  been  used  as  an  office.  But  upon 
inspecting  the  floor  I  found  it  firm,  and,  con- 


Under  the  Mill  Floor, 


151 


vinced  I  should  have  to  go  farther  for  what  I 
was  seeking,  I  hastily  passed  into  the  next 
room.  This  was  of  much  larger  dimensions, 
and  here  I  paused  longer,  for  more  than  one 
board  tilted  as  I  passed  over  it,  and  not  a  few 
of  them  were  loose  and  could  be  shifted  aside 
by  a  little  extra  exertion  of  strength.  But, 
though  I  investigated  every  board  that  rocked 
under  my  step,  I  discovered  nothing  beneath 
them  but  the  dust  and  debris  of  years,  and  so 
was  forced  to  leave  this  room  as  I  had  the 
other,  without  gaining  any  thing  beyond  a 
sense  of  hopelessness  and  the  prospect  of  a 
weary  back.  And  so  on  and  on  I  went  for  an 
hour,  and  was  beginning  to  realize  the  giant 
nature  of  my  undertaking,  when  a  sudden  low 
sound  of  running  water  broke  upon  my  ears, 
and  going  to  one  of  the  many  windows  that 
opened  before  me,  I  looked  out  and  found  I 
was  at  the  very  back  of  the  mill,  and  in  full 
sight  of  the  dark  and  sullen  stream  that  in 
times  of  yore  used  to  feed  the  great  wheel  and 
run  the  machinery.  Consequently  I  was  in 
the  last  room  upon  the  ground-floor,  and,  what 
struck  me  still  more  forcibly,  near,  if  not  di- 
rectly over,  that  huge  vat  in  the  cellar  which 


ir^ 


152 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


i:t 


!1 


iY'' 


had  served  so  fatal  a  purpose  only  a  few  short 
days  before. 

The  sight  of  a  flight  of  stairs  descending  at 
m}^  right  into  the  hollow  darkness  beneath  in- 
tensified my  emotion.  I  seemed  to  be  in  di- 
rect communication  with  that  scene  of  death  ; 
and  the  thought  struck  me  that  here,  if  any- 
where in  the  whole  building,  must  be  found 
the  mysterious  hiding-place  for  which  I  was  in 
search. 

It  was  therefore  with  extra  care  that  I  di- 
rected my  glances  along  the  uneven  flooring, 
and  I  was  scarcely  surprised  when,  after  a  short 
examination  of  the  various  loose  boards  that 
rattled  beneath  me,  I  discovered  one  that  could 
be  shifted  without  diflficulty.  But  scarcely  had 
I  stooped  to  raise  it  when  an  emotion  of  fear 
seized  me,  and  I  started  back  alert  and  listen- 
ing, though  I  was  unconscious  of  having  heard 
any  thing  more  than  the  ordinary  swash  of  the 
water  beneath  the  windows  and  the  beating  of 
my  own  overtaxed  heart.  An  instant's  heark- 
ening gave  me  the  reassurance  I  needed,  and 
convinced  that  I  had  alarmed  myself  unneces- 
sarily, I  bent  again  over  the  board,  and  this 
time  succeeded  in  moving  it  aside.,     A  long, 


Under  the  Mill  Floor, 


153 


black  garment,  smoothly  spread  out  to  its  full 
extent,  instantly  met  my  eye.  The  words  of 
Rhoda  Colwell  were  true  ;  the  mill  did  contain 
certain  articles  of  clothing  concealed  within  it. 
I  do  not  know  what  I  expected  when,  a  few 
minutes  later,  I  pulled  the  garment  out  of  the 
hole  in  which  it  lay  buried,  and  spread  it  out 
before  me.  Not  what  I  discovered,  I  am  sure  ; 
for  when  I  had  given  it  a  glance,  and  found  it 
was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  domino, 
such  as  is  worn  by  masqueraders,  I  experi- 
enced a  shock  that  the  mask,  which  fell  out  of 
its  folds,  scarcely  served  to  allay.  It  was  like 
the  introduction  of  farce  into  a  terrible  trage- 
dy ;  and  as  I  stood  in  a  maze  and  surveyed 
the  garment  before  me  till  its  black  outline 
swam  before  my  eyes,  I  remember  thinking  of 
the  effect  which  had  been  produced,  at  a  cer- 
tain trial  I  had  heard  of,  by  the  prisoner  sud- 
denly bursting  into  a  laugh  when  the  sentence 
of  death  was  pronounced.  But  presently  this 
feeling  of  incongruity  gave  way  to  one  of  hide- 
ous dread.  If  Dwight  Pollard  could  explain 
the  presence  of  a  domino  and  mask  in  this 
spot,  then  what  sort  of  a  man  was  Dwight  Pol- 
lard, and  what  sort  of  a  crime  could  it  have 


if 


^  '\ 


L 


I   l\ 


154 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery. 


been  that  needed  for  its  perpetration  such  ad- 
juncts as  these  ?  The  highwaymen  of  olden 
time,  with  their  "  Stand  and  deliver  ! "  seemed 
out  of  place  in  this  quiet  New  England  town  , 
nor  was  the  character  of  any  of  the  parties  in- 
volved, of  a  nature  to  make  the  association  of 
this  masquerade  gear  with  the  tragedy  gone  by 
seem  either  possible  or  even  probable.  And 
yet,  there  they  lay  ;  and  not  all  my  wonder, 
nor  all  the  speculations  which  their  presence 
evoked,  would  serve  to  blot  them  from  the 
floor  or  explain  the  mystery  of  which  they 
were  the  sign  and  seal. 

So  impressed  was  I  at  last  by  this  thought 
that  I  broke  the  spell  which  bound  me,  and 
began  to  restore  the  articles  to  their  place.  I 
was  just  engaged  in  throwing  the  mask  into 
the  hole,  when  the  low  but  unmistakable  sound 
of  an  approaching  foot-fall  broke  upon  my  ears, 
startling  me  more  than  a  thunder-clap  would 
have  done,  and  filling  me  with  a  fear  that  al- 
most paralyzed  my  movements.  I  controlled 
myself,  however,  and  hastily  pulled  the  board 
back  to  its  place,  after  which  I  frantically 
looked  about  me  for  some  means  of  conceal- 
ment or  escape.     I  found  but  one.     The  stair- 


.-,.  I 


Under  the  Mill  Floor, 


155 


case  which  ran  down  to  the  cellar  was  but  a  few 
feet  off,  and  if  I  could  summon  courage  to  make 
use  of  it,  would  lead  to  a  place  of  comparative 
safety.  But  the  darkness  of  that  spot  seemed 
worse  than  the  light  of  this,  and  I  stood  hesi- 
tating on  the  brink  of  the  staircase  till  the  foot- 
steps drew  so  near  I  dared  not  linger  longer, 
and  plunged  below  with  such  desperate  haste,  I 
wonder  I  did  not  trip  and  fall  headlong  to  the 
cellar-floor.  I  did  not,  however,  nor  do  I  seem 
to  have  made  any  special  no'se,  for  the  footsteps 
above  did  not  hasten.  I  had,  therefore,  the  sat- 
isfaction of  feeling  myself  saved  from  what  might 
have  been  a  very  special  danger,  and  was  mov- 
ing slowly  away,  when  the  fascination  which  all 
horrible  objects  exert  upon  the  human  soul 
seized  me  with  a  power  I  could  not  resist,  and  I 
turned  slowly  but  irresistibly  towards  the  corner 
where  I  knew  the  fatal  vat  to  be. 

One  glimpse  and  I  would  have  fled  ;  but  just 
at  the  instant  I  turned  I  heard  a  sound  overhead 
that  sent  the  current  of  my  thoughts  in  a  fresh 
direction,  and  lent  to  my  failing  courage  a  re- 
newed strength  which  made  flight  at  that  mo- 
ment seem  nothing  more  nor  less  than  an  im- 
pulse of  cowardice.     This  was  nothing  more  nor 


tt 

i 


I  ;  I,       ■;  ■, 


l!i  -'^ 


i 


1 


I 


II 


156 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


less  than  a  faint  creaking,  such  as  had  followed 
my  own  lifting  of  the  board  which  hid  the  dom- 
ino and  mask  ;  a  noise  that  was  speedily  followed 
by  one  yet  more  distinct  and  of  a  nature  to  con- 
vince me  beyond  a  doubt  that  my  own  action 
was  being  repeated  by  some  unknown  hand. 
Whose  ?  Curiosity,  love,  honor,  every  impulse 
of  my  being  impelled  me  to  find  out.  I  moved 
like  a  spirit  towards  the  stairs.  I  placed  my 
foot  on  one  step,  and  then  on  another,  mounting 
in  silence  and  without  a  fear,  so  intent  was  I 
upon  the  discovery  which  now  absorbed  me. 
But  just  as  I  reached  the  top,  just  when  another 
movement  would  lift  my  head  above  the  level 
of  the  floor,  I  paused,  realizing  as  in  a  flash 
what  the  consequences  might  be  if  the  intruder 
should  prove  to  be  another  than  Rhoda  Col- 
well,  and  should  have  not  his  back  but  his  face 
turned  towards  the  place  where  I  stood.  The 
sounds  I  heard,  feeble  as  they  were,  did  not 
seem  to  indicate  the  presence  of  a  woman,  and 
in  another  instant  a  low  exclamation,  smothered 
in  the  throat  almost  before  it  was  uttered,  as- 
sured mc  that  it  was  a  man  who  stood  not  six 
feet  from  me,  handling  the  objects  which  I  had 
been  told  were  in  some  way  connected  with  a 


Under  the  Mill  Floor, 


157 


murder  which  I  was  by  every  Instinct  of  honor 
bound  to  discover,  if  not  avenge. 

A  man !  and  ah,  he  was  so  quiet,  so  careful ! 
I  could  not  even  guess  what  he  was  doing, 
much  less  determine  his  identity,  by  listening. 
I  had  a  conviction  that  he  was  taking  the 
articles  out  of  their  place  of  concealment,  but  I 
could  not  be  sure  ;  and  in  a  matter  like  this, 
certainty  was  indispensable.  I  resolved  to  risk 
all,  and  took  another  step,  clinging  dizzily  to  the 
first  support  that  offered.  It  was  well  I  had 
the  presence  of  mind  to  do  this,  or  I  might 
have  had  a  serious  fall.  For  no  sooner  had  I 
raised  my  head  above  the  level  of  the  floor 
than  my  eyes  fell  upon  the  well-known  form  of 
him  I  desired  least  of  all  men  to  see  in  this 
place — my  lover,  if  you  may  call  him  so — 
D  wight  Pollard. 


Ill 


^1 


■<  s 


'  f  I 


i 


^ 


t   ;i 


J 


W' 


!  1. 


♦* 


xii; 

DWIGHT   POLLARD. 

Oh,  't  is  too  true  1  how  smart 
A  lash  that  speech  doth  give  my  conscience  1 

— Hamlet. 

HE  was  standing  with  his  back  to  me,  and 
to  all  appearance  was  unconscious  that 
he  was  under  the  surveillance  of  any  eye.  I  had 
thus  a  moment  in  which  to  collect  my  energies 
and  subdue  my  emotions  ;  and  I  availed  myself 
of  it  to  such  good  purpose  that  by  the  time  he 
had  put  the  board  back  into  its  place  I  was 
ready  to  face  him.  He  did  not  turn  round, 
howe^'^er  ;  so,  after  a  moment  of  silent  suspense, 
I  mounted  the  last  stair,  and  thinking  of  noth-  ' 
ing,  hoping  for  nothing,  wishing  for  nothing, 
stood  waiting,  with  my  eyes  fixed  on  the 
domino  he  was  now  rapidly  folding  into  smaller 
compass. 

And  thus  I  stood,  like  a  pallid  automaton, 
when  the  instant  came  for  him  to  change  his 


158 


\u 


\i 


♦-. 


Dwight  Pollard, 


159 


position,  and  he  saw  me.  The  cry  that  rose  to 
his  lips  but  did  not  escape  them,  the  reel  which 
his  figure  gave  before  it  stiffened  into  marble, 
testified  to  the  shock  he  had  received,  and  also 
to  the  sense  of  unreality  with  which  my  appear- 
ance in  this  wise  must  have  impressed  him. 
His  look,  his  attitude  were  those  of  a  man 
gazing  upon  a  spectre,  and  as  I  met  his  glance 
with  mine,  I  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  un- 
reality myself,  as  if  the  whole  occurrence  were 
a  dream,  and  he  and  I  but  shadows  which 
another  moment  would  dissolve. 

But  alas !  this  was  no  more  a  dream  than 
were  the  other  strange  and  tragic  events  which 
had  gone  before  ;  and  in  an  instant  we  both 
knew  it,  and  were  standing  face  to  face  with 
wretched  inquiry  in  the  looks  we  fixed  upon 
each  other  across  the  domino  which  had  fallen 
from  his  hands.     He  was  the  first  to  speak. 

*'  Miss  Sterling !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  light 
tone,  cruelly  belied  by  the  trembling  lips  from 
which  it  issued,  *'  by  what  fortunate  chance  do  I 
see  you  again,  and  in  a  place  I  should  have 
thought  to  be  the  last  you  would  be  likely  to 
visit?" 

"  By  the  same  chance,"  I  rejoined,  ''  which 


o 


If 


'«. 


.y> 


II 


fi  II 


1 60 


r^^  Mill  Mystery. 


appears  to  have  brought  you  here.  The  desire 
to  make  sure  if  what  I  heard  about  the  mill 
having  been  used  as  a  secreting  placv^  for  certain 
mysterious  articles,  was  true."  And  I  pointed 
to  the  mask  and  domino  lying  at  my  feet. 

His  eye,  which  had  followed  the  direction  of 
my  finger,  grew  dark  and  troubled. 

''Then  it  was  your  hand — "  he  impetuously 
began. 

"Which  disturbed  these  garments  before 
you  ?  Yes.  And  I  shall  make  no  apology  for 
the  action,"  I  continued,  '*  since  it  was  done  in 
the  hope  of  proving  false  certain  insii  uations 
which  had  been  made  to  me  in  your  regard." 

"  Insinuations?  "  he  repeated. 

**  Yes,"  I  declared,  in  an  agony  between  my 
longing  to  hear  him  vindicate  himself  and  the 
desire  to  be  true  to  the  obligations  I  was  under 
to  Ada  Reynolds.  **  Insinuations  of  the  worst, 
the  most  terrible,  character."  Then,  as  I  saw 
him  fall  back,  stricken  in  something  more  than 
his  pride,  I  hastened  to  inquire  :  '*  Have  you  an 
enemy  in  town,  Mr.  Pollard  ?  " 

He  composed  himself  with  a  start,  looked  at 
me  fixedly,  and  replied  in  what  struck  me  as  a 
strange  tone  even  for  such  an  occasion  as  this : 

.     ■  ..  ■       -  -     :  ---■  \  , 


Si 


Dwight  Pollard, 


i6i 


desire 
le  mill 
certain 
)ointed 

tion  of 

uoLisly 

before 
Dgy  for 
lone  in 
uations 
ard." 

ten  my 
.nd  the 
;  under 
worst, 
I  saw 
•e  than 
you  an 

iked  at 
ne  as  a 
IS  this : 


**  Perhaps. 

**  One  who  out  of  revenge,"  I  proceeded, 
"  micrht  be  induced  to  attach  your  name  to 
suspicions  calculated  to  rob  you  c  f  honor,  if  not 

life?" 

**  Perhaps,"  he  again  returned  ;  but  this  time 
with  a  fierceness  that  almost  made  me  recoil, 
though  I  knew  it  was  directed  against  some  one 
besides  myself. 

**  Then  it  may  be,"  I  said, ''  that  you  have  but 
to  speak  to  relieve  my  mind  of  the  heaviest 
weight  which  has  ever  fallen  upon  it.  These 
articles,"  I  pursued,  "  have  they,  or  have  they  not, 
any  connection  with  the  tragedy  which  makes 
the  place  in  which  we  stand  memorable?  " 

**  I  cannot  answer  you.  Miss  Sterling." 

**  Cannot  answer  me  ?  " 

**  Cannot  answer  you,"  he  reiterated,  turning 
haggard  about  the  eyes  and  lips. 

**Then,"  I  brokenly  rejoined,  '*  I  had  better 
leave  this  place ;  I  do  not  see  what  more  I  have 
to  do  or  say  here." 

"  O  God !  "  he  cried,  detaining  me  with  a 
gesture  full  of  agony  and  doubt.  **  Do  not  leave 
me  so ;  let  me  think.  Let  me  weigh  the  situa- 
tion and  see  where  I  stand,  in  your  eyes  at  least. 


I 


ii» 


I 


162 


r.^^  i^^7/  Mystery, 


Tell  me  what  my  enemy  has  said!"  he  de- 
manded, his  face,  his  very  form,  flashing  with  a 
terrible  rage  that  seemed  to  have  as  much  in- 
dignation as  fear  in  it. 

**  Your  enemy,"  I  replied,  in  the  steady  voice 
of  despair,  "accuses  you  in  so  many  words — of 
murder." 

I  expected  to  see  him  recoil,  burst  forth  into 
cursing  or  frenzied  declamation,  by  which  men 
betray  their  inward  consternation  and  remorse  ; 
but  he  did  none  of  these  things.  Instead  of 
that  he  laughed ;  a  hideous  laugh  that  seemed 
to  shake  the  rafters  above  us  and  echoed  in  and 
out  of  the  caverned  recesses  beneath. 

**  Accuses  me?  "  he  muttered  ;  and  it  is  not 
in  language  to  express  the  scorn  he  infused  into 
the  words. 

Stunned,  and  scarcely  knowing  what  to  think, 
I  gazed  at  him  helplessly.  He  seemed  to  feel 
my  glance,  for,  after  a  moment's  contemplation 
of  my  face,  his  manner  suddenly  changed,  ana 
bowing  with  a  grim  politeness  full  of  sarcasm, 
he  asked  : 

"  And  when  did  you  see  my  enemy  and  hold 
this  precious  conversation  in  which  /  was  ac- 
cused of  murder?  "  , 


Dwigkt  Pollard, 


163 


"  Yesterday  afternoon,"  I  answered.  "  During 
the  time  of  your  mother's  funeral,"  I  subjoined, 
startled  by  the  look  of  stupefaction  which 
crossed  his  face  at  my  words. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  he  murmured, 
sweeping  his  hand  in  a  dazed  way  over  his  brow. 
**You  saw  him  then?  Spoke  to  him?  Impossible!" 

"  It  is  not  a  man  to  whom  I  allude,"  I  re- 
turned, almost  as  much  agitated  as  himself. 
"  It  is  a  woman  who  is  your  accuser,  a  woman 
who  seems  to  feel  she  has  a  right  to  make  you 
suffer,  possibly  because  she  has  suffered  so 
much  herself." 

"  A  woman  ! "  was  all  he  said  ;  "  a  woman  !  " 
turning  pale  enough  now,  God  knows. 

"  Have  you  no  enemies  among  the  women  ?  " 
I  asked,  wearied  to  the  soul  with  the  position 
in  which  my  cruel  fate  had  forced  me. 

"  I  begin  to  think  I  have,"  he  answered, 
giving  me  a  look  t^at  somehow  broke  down 
the  barriers  of  ice  between  us  and  made  my 
next  words  come  in  a  faltering  tone  : 

**  And  could  you  stop  to  bestow  a  thought 
upon  a  man  while  a  woman  held  your  secret  ? 
Did  you  think  our  sex  was  so  long-suffering,  or 
this  special  woman  so  generous "    . 


.;■■* 


"i 


I.-:. 


1 


hi 


r 


- 


ii 


I 


( 


164 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


I  did  not  go  on,  for  he  had  leaped  the  gap 
which  separated  us  and  had  me  gently  but 
firmly  by  the  arm. 

"•  Of  whom  are  you  speaking? "  he  demanded. 
"  What  woman  has  my  secret — if  secret  I  have.'^ 
Let  me  hear  her  name,  now,  at  once." 

"  Is  it  possible,"  I  murmured,  that  you  do  not 
^now  ?  "  . 

"  The  name !  the  name ! "  he  reiterated,  his 
eyes  ablaze,  his  hand  shaking  where  it  grasped 
my  arm. 

"  Rhoda  Colwell,"  I  returned,  looking  him 
steadily  in  the  eye. 

'*  Impossible ! "  his  lips  seemed  to  breathe, 
and  his  clasp  slowly  unloosed  from  my  arm  like 
a  ring  of  ice  which  melts  away.  **  Rhoda  Col- 
w'ell!  Good  God! "  he  exclaimed,  and  staggered 
back  with  ever-growing  wonder  and  alarm  till 
half  the  room  lay  between  us. 

'*I  am  not  surprised  at  your  emotion,"  I  said; 
"  she  is  a  dangerous  woman." 

He  looked  at  me  with  dull  eyes  ;  he  did  not 
seem  to  hear  what  I  said. 

"  How  can  it  be  ? "  he  muttered  ;  and  his 
glance  took  a  furtive  aspect  as  it  travelled  slow- 
ly round  the  room  and  finally  settled  upon  the 


Dwight  Pollard, 


165 


mask  and  domino  at  my  feet.  **  Was  it  she  who 
told  you  where  to  look  for  those  ?  "  he  suddenly 
queried  in  an  almost  viole  it  tone. 

I  bowed  ;  I  had  no  wish  to  speak. 

"■  She  is  an  imp,  a  witch,  an  emissary  of  the 
Evil  One,"  he  vehemently  declared ;  and  turned 
away,  murmuring,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  those 
sacred  words  of  Scripture,  **  Be  sure/your  sin 
will  find  /0\T  out.'*  •• 

I  felt  'he  r.obs  rise  in  my  throat.  I  could  bear 
but  little  more.  To  recover  myself,  I  looked 
away  ^rom  him,  even  passed  to  a  window  and 
gazed  out.  Any  thing  but  the  sight  of  this 
humiliation  in  one  who  could  easily  have  been 
my  idol.  I  was  therefore  standing  with  my  back 
to  him  when  he  finally  approached,  and  touching 
me  with  the  tip  of  his  finger,  calmly  remarked  ; 
.  **  I  did  not  know  you  were  acquainted  with 
Miss  Colwell." 

**  Nor  was  I  till  yesterday,"  I  rejoined.  "  Fate 
made  us  know  each  other  at  one  interview,  if 
one  could  be  said  to  ever  know  such  a  woman 
as  she  is." 

**  Fate  is  to  blame  for  much ;  is  it  also  to 
blame  for  the  fact  that  you  sought  her  ?  Or  did 
she  seek  you?  " 


/3 

iii!  ■' 


m 


I 


i 


k' 


1 66 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


<  **  I  sought  her,"  I  said ;  and,  not  seeing  any 
better  road  to  a  proper  explanation  of  my  con- 
duct than  the  truth,  I  told  him  in  a  few  words 
of  the  notice  I  had  seen  posted  upon  the  mill, 
and  of  how  I  had  afterwards  surprised  Rhoda 
Colwell  there,  and  what  the  conclusions  were 
which  I  had  thereby  drawn  ;  though,  from  some 
motive  of  delicacy  I  do  not  yet  understand,  I 
refrained  from  saying  any  thing  about  her  dis- 
guise, and  left  him  to  infer  that  it  was  in  her 
own  proper  person  I  had  seen  her. 

He  seemed  to  be  both  wonder-stricken  and 
moved  by  the  recital,  and  did  not  rest  till  he  had 
won  from  me  the  double  fact  that  Rhoda  Colwell 
evidently  knew  much  more  than  she  revealed, 
while  I,  on  the  contrary,  knew  much  less.  The 
latter  discovery  seemed  to  greatly  gratify  him, 
and  while  his  brow  lost  none  of  the  look  oL 
heavy  anxiety  which  had  settled  upon  it  with 
the  introduction  of  this  woman's  name  into  our 
colloquy,  I  noticed  that  his  voice  was  lighter, 
and  that  he  surveyed  me  with  less  distrust  and 
possibly  with  less  fear.  His  next  words  showed 
the  direction  his  thoughts  were  taking. 

"You  have  shown  an  interest  in  my  fate. 
Miss  Sterling,  in  spite  of  the  many  reasons 


s, 


Dwight  Pollard, 


167 


you  had  for  thinking  it  a  degraded  one,  and  for 
this  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart.  Will  you 
prove  your  womanliness  still  further  by  clinging 
to  the  belief  which  I  have  endeavored  to  force 
upon  you,  that  notwithstanding  all  you  have 
heard  and  seen,  I  stand  in  no  wise  amenable 
to  the  law,  neither  have  I  uttered,  in  your 
hearing  at  least,  aught  but  the  truth  in  regard 
to  this  whole  matter  ?  " 

**  And  you  can  swear  this  to  me  ?  "  I  uttered, 
joyfully.  ■ 

"  By  my  father's  grave,  if  you  desire  it,"  he 
returned. 

A  flood  of  hope  rushed  through  my  heart. 
I  was  but  a  weak  woman,  and  his  voice  and 
look  at  that  moment  would  have  affected  the 
coldest  nature. 

"  I  am  bound  to  believe  you,"  I  said ; 
"  though  there  is  much  I  do  not  understand — 
much  which  you  ought  to  explain  if  you  wish  to 
disabuse  my  mind  of  all  doubt  in  your  regard, 
I  would  be  laying  claim  to  a  cynicism  I  do  not 
possess,  if  I  did  not  trust  your  words  just  so 

far  as  you  will  allow  me.     But "     And  I 

must  have  assumed  an  air  of  severity,  for  I  saw 
.his  head  droop  lower  and  lower  as  I  gazed  at 
him  and  forbore  to  finish  my  sentence. 


rt 


h  ^ 


lt\ 


,i    1 


I 


! 


1 68 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery. 


*'  But  you  believe  I  am  a  villain,"  he  stam- 
mered. 

**  I  would  fain  believe  you  to  be  the  best  and 
noblest  of  men,"  I  answered,  pointedly. 

He  lifted  his  head,  and  the  flush  of  a  new 
emotion  swept  over  his  face. 

**  Why  did  I  not  meet  you  two  years  ago  ?  " 
he  cried. 

The  tone  was  so  bitter,  the  regret  expressed 
so  unutterable,  I  could  not  help  my  heart 
sinking  again  with  the  weight  of  fresh  doubt 
which  it  brought.  - 

'*  Would  it  have  been  better  for  me  if  you 
had  ?  "  I  inquired.  '*  Is  the  integrity  which  is 
dependent  upon  one's  happiness,  or  the  sym- 
pathy of  friends,  one  that  a  woman  can  trust 
to  under  all  circumstances  of  temptation  or 
trial  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  muttered.  "  I  think  it 
would  stand  firm  with  you  for  its  safeguard  and 
shield."  Then,  as  he  saw  me  draw  back  with 
an  assumption  of  coldness  I  was  far  from  feel- 
ing, added  gently  :  "  But  it  was  not  you,  but 
Rhoda  Colwell,  I  met  two  years  ago,  and  I 
know  you  too  well,  appreciate  you  too  well,  to 
lay  aught  but  my  sincerest  homage  at  your 


Dwight  Pollard, 


169 


feet,  in  the  hope  that,  whatever  I  may  have 
been  in  the  past,  the  future  shall  prove  me  to 
be  not  unworthy  of  your  sympathy,  and  possi- 
bly of  your  regard." 

And,  as  if  he  felt  the  stress  of  the  interview 
becoming  almost  too  great  for  even  his  strength, 
he  turned  away  from  me  and  began  gathering 
up  the  toggery  that  lay  upon  the  floor. 

"These  must  not  remain  here,"  he  observed, 
bitterly. 

But  I,  drawn  this  way  and  that  by  the  most 
contradictory  emotions,  felt  that  all  had  not 
been  said  which  should  be  in  this  important 
and  possibly  final  interview.  Accordingly, 
smothering  personal  feeling  and  steeling  my- 
self to  look  only  at  my  duty,  I  advanced  to  his 
side,  and,  indicating  with  a  gesture  the  gar- 
ments he  was  now  rolling  up  into  a  compact 
mass,  remarked  : 

"  This  may  or  may  not  involve  you  in  some 
unpleasantness.  Rhoda  Colwell,  who  evidently 
attaches  much  importance  to  her  discoveries,  is 
not  the  woman  to  keep  silent  in  their  regard. 
If  she  speaks  and  forces  me  to  speak,  I  must 
own  the  truth,  M  Pcll^t-H.  Neither  sympa- 
thy nor  regard  cc  ild  hold  me  back;  for  my 


170 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


'M^% 


:P' 


honor  is  pledged  to  the  cause  of  Mr.  Barrows, 
and  not  even  the  wreck  of  my  own  happiness 
could  deter  me  from  revealing  any  thing  that 
would  explain  his  death  or  exonerate  his 
memory.  I  wish  you  to  understand  this.  God 
grant  I  may  never  be  called  upon  to  speak ! " 

It  was  a  threat,  a  warning,  or  a  danger  for 
which  he  was  wholly  unprepared.  He  stared 
at  me  for  a  moment  from  his  lowly  position  on 
the  floor,  then  slowly  rose  and  mechanically 
put  his  hand  to  his  throat,  as  if  he  felt  himself 
choking. 

**  I  thank  you  for  your  frankness,"  he  mur- 
mured, in  almost  inaudible  tones.  "It  is  no 
more  than  I  ought  to  have  expected  ;  and  yet 

"     He  turned  abruptly  away.      **  I  am 

evidently  in  a  worse  situation  than  I  imag- 
ined," he  continued,  after  a  momentary  pacing 
of  the  floor.  "  I  thought  only  my  position  in 
your  eyes  was  assailed  ;  I  see  now  that  I  may 
have  to  defend  myself  before  the  world." 
And,  with  a  sudden  change  that  was  almost 
alarming,  he  asked  if  Rhoda  Colwell  had  inti- 
mat  \  in  any  way  the  source  of  whatever  in- 
formation she  professed  to  have.  • 

I  told  him  no,  and  felt  my  heart  grow  cold 


Dwight  Pollard. 


171 


with  new  and  undefined  fears  as  he  turned  his 
face  toward  the  front  of  the  building,  and 
cried,  in  a  suppressed  tone,  full  of  ire  and 
menace  : 

"  It  could  have  come  but  in  one  way  ;  I  am 

to  be  made  a  victim  if "     He  turned  upon 

me  with  a  wild  look  in  which  there  was  some- 
thing personal.  "  Are  you  worth  the  penalty 
which  my  good  name  must  suffer  ?  "  he  vio- 
lently cried.  "  For  I  swear  that  to  you  and 
you  only  I  owe  the  position  in  which  I  now 
stand  ! " 

*'  God  help  me  then  !  "  I  murmured,  dazed 
and  confounded  by  this  unexpected  reproach. 

"  Had  you  been  less  beautiful,  less  alluring 

in  your  dignity  and  grace,  my  brother " 

He  paused  and  bit  his  lip.  '*  Enough  !  "  he 
cried.  "  I  had  wellnigh  forgotten  that  gener- 
osity and  forbearance  are  to  actuate  my  move- 
ments in  the  future.  I  beg  your  pardon — and 
his  ! "  he  added,  with  deep  and  bitter-  sarcasm, 
under  his  breath. 

This  allusion  to  Guy,  unpleasant  and  shock- 
ing as  it  was,  gave  me  a  peculiar  sensation 
that  was  not  unlike  that  of  relief,  while  at  the 
same  moment  the  glimpse  of  something,  which 


I  ,    !! 


I 


•: 


f 
t,  J   :!! 


■'    ■! 

n 

hi 


mi  i 


,B 


172 


Tke  Mill  Mystery, 


I  was  fain  to  call  a  revelation,  visited  my  mind 
and  led  me  impetuously  to  say  : 

**  I  hope  you  are  not  thinking  of  sacrificing 
yourself  for  another  less  noble  and  less  gener- 
ous than  yourself.  If  such  is  the  clew  to 
actions  which  certainly  have  looked  dubious 
till  now,  I  pray  that  you  will  reconsider  your 
duty  and  not  play  the  Don  Quixote  too  far." 

But  Dwight  Pollard,  instead  of  accepting 
this  explanation  of  his  conduct  with  the  eager- 
ness of  a  great  relief,  only  shook  his  head  and 
declared  : 

"  My  brother — for  I  know  who  you  mean, 
Miss  Sterling — is  no  more  amenable  to  the 
law  than  myself.  Neither  .'  us  were  guilty 
of  the  action  that  terminated  Mr.  Barrows'  life." 

**  And  yet,"  came  in  the  strange  and  unex- 
pected tones  of  a  third  person,  "can  you  say, 
in  the  presence  of  her  you  profess  to  respect 
and  of  me  whom  you  once  professed  to  love, 
that  either  you  or  your  brother  are  guiltless  of 
his  death  ?"  and  turning  simultaneously  toward 
the  doorway,  we  saw  gleaming  in  its  heavy 
frame  the  vivid  form  end  glittering  eyes  of  his 
most  redoubtable  enemy  and  mine — Rhoda 
Colwell. 


!l'i 


Dwight  Pollard, 


17: 


He  fell  back  before  this  apparition  and  ap- 
peared to  lose  his  power  of  speech.  She 
advanced  like  an  avenging  Nemesis  between 
us. 

"  Speak  !  "  she  vehemently  exclaimed.  "Are 
you — I  say  nothing  of  your  brother,  who  is 
nothing  to  me  or  to  her — are  you  guiltless,  in 
the  sense  in  which  she  would  regard  guilt,  of 
David  Barrows'  death  ?  "  And  her  fierce  eyes, 
shining  through  her  half-closed  lashes  like 
lurid  fires  partly  veiled,  burned  upon  his  face, 
which,  turning  paler  and  paler,  drooped  before 
her  gaze  till  his  chin  settled  upon  his  breast 
and  we  could  barely  hear  the  words  that  fell 
from  his  lips  : 

"  God  knows  I  would  not  dare  to  say  I  am." 


\\ 


\\ 


•i«—*- 


ft 


"V 


t:--Z 


M 


I   \ 


XIII. 

GUY    POr.LARD. 
I  will  tell  you  why. — Hamlet. 

THERE  was  a  silence,  then  D wight  Pol- 
lard spoke  again.  "  I  have  made  a 
confession  which  I  never  expected  to  hear  pass 
my  lips.  She  who  has  forced  it  from  me 
doubtless  knows  how  much  and  how  little  it 
means.  Let  her  explain  herself,  then.  I  have 
n*^  further  business  in  this  place."  And,  with- 
out lifting  his  head  or  meeting  the  eye  of 
either  of  us,  he  strode  past  us  towards  the 
doc : 

B  it  there  he  paused,  for  Rhoda  Colwell's 
voice  had  risen  in  word'^  that  must  be  an- 
swered. 

"  And  where,  then,  have  you  business  if  not 
here  ?  Do  you  not  know  I  hold  your  good 
name,  if  not  your  life,  in  my  hands  ?  " 

'<  My  good  name,"  he  slowly  rejoined,  with- 
out turning  his  head,  **  is  already  lost  in  the 
eyes  I  most  valued.     As  for  my  life,  it  stands 

174  V 


-*,y»w— ^ 


"itHvumtrnttifi 


Guv  Polhrd. 


175 


in  no  jeopardy.  Would  I  ceroid  say  the  same 
for  his  !  "  was  his  fierce  addi  'on. 

"His?"  came  from  Rhc  a  Colwell's  lips,  in 
surprise.  "  His?"  and  with  a  quick  and  sub- 
tle movement  she  glided  to  his  side  and  seized 
him  imperatively  by  the  arm.  "Whom  do  you 
mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  turned  on  her  with  a  dark  look. 

"  Whom  do  I  mean  ?"  he  retorted.  "  Whom 
should  I  mean  but  the  base  and  unnatural 
wretch  who,  for  purposes  of  his  own,  has  made 
you  the  arbitrator  of  my  destiny  and  the 
avenger  of  my  sin — my  brother,  my  vile, 
wicked  brother,  whom  may  Heaven " 

"  Stop  !  Your  brother  has  had  nothing  to 
do  with  this.  Do  you  suppose  I  would  stoop 
to  take  information  ^  :m  him  ?  What  I  know 
I  know  because  my  eyes  have  seen  it,  D wight 
Pollard  !  \nd  now,  vdici  do  you  think  of  the 
clutch  I  hold  upon  your  life?"  and  she  held 
out  those  two  milk-white  hands  of  hers  with  a 
smile  such  as  I  hope  never  to  see  on  mortal 
face  again. 

He  looked  at  them,  then  at  her,  and  drew 
back  speechless.  She  burst  mto  a  low  but 
ringing  kugh  of  immeasurable  triun^pL 


%  ij 


'■■f^' 

;l,;-?  ->.. 


176 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


m 


'*  And  you  thought  such  a  blow  as  this  could 
come  from  a  man  I  Dullard  and  fool  you 
must  be,  Dwight  Pollard,  or  else  you  have 
never  known  me.  Why  should  he  risk  his 
honor  and  his  safety  in  an  action  as  dangerous 
to  him  as  ungrateful  to  you  ?  Because  he  ad- 
mires her?  Guy  Pollard  is  not  so  loving. 
But  I — I  whom  you  taught  to  be  a  woman, 
only  to  fling  aside  like  a  weed —  Ah,  that 
is  another  thing !  Reason  for  waiting  and 
watching  here  ;  reason  for  denouncing,  when 
the  time  came,  the  man  who  could  take  advan- 
tage of  another  man's  fears  !  Ah,  you  see  I 
know  what  I  am  talking  about." 

*/  Speak  ! "  he  gasped.  How  do  you  know  ? 
You  say  you  saw.  How  could  you  see  ? 
Where  were  you,  demon  and  witch  in  one  ? " 

She  smiled,  not  as  before,  but  yet  with  a 
sense  of  power  that  only  the  evil  glitter  of  her 
sidelong  eye  kept  from  making  her  wholly 
adorable. 

"  Will  you  come  into  the  cellar  belov/  ? " 
said  she.  "  Or  stay  ;  that  may  be  asking  too 
much.  A  glance  from  one  of  these  windows 
will  do."  And,  moving  rapidly  across  the 
room,  she  threw  up  one  of  the  broken  sashes 


Gtcy  Pollard, 


177 


before  her,  and  pointed  to  a  stunted  tree  that 
grew  up  close  against  the  wall.  **  Do  you  see 
that  limb  ?  "  she  inquired,  indicating  one  that 
branched  out  towards  a  window  we  could 
faintly  see  defined  beneath.  "  A  derxion  or  a 
witch  might  sit  there  for  a  half-hour  and  see, 
without  so  much  as  craning  her  neck,  all 
that  went  on  in  the  cellar  below.  That  the 
leaves  are  thick,  and,  to  those  within,  apparent- 
ly hang  like  a  curtain  between  them  and  the 
outer  world,  would  make  no  difference  to  a 
demon's  eyes,  you  know.  Such  folk  can  see 
where  black  walls  intei  vene  ;  how  much  more 
when  only  a  fluttering  screen  like  that  shuts  off 
the  view."  And,  drawing  back,  she  looked 
into  his  dazed  face,  and  then  into  nine,  as 
though  she  would  ask :  ''  Have  I  convinced 
you  that  I  am  a  woman  to  be  feared  ?  " 

His  white  cheek  seemed  to  answer  Yes,  but 
his  eyes,  when  he  raised  them,  did  not  quail 
before  her  mocking  glance,  though  I  thought 
they  drooped  a  little  when,  in  another  moment, 
they  flashed  in  my  direction. 

"  Miss  Sterling,"  he  inquired,  "  do  you  un- 
derstand what  Miss  Colwell  has  been  saying  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head  and  faltered  back.     I  had 


1    !• 


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178 


T/ze  Mill  Mystery, 


only  one  wish,  and  that  was  to  be  effaced  from 
this  spot  of  misery. 

He  turned  again  to  her. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  explain  yourself  fur- 
ther ?  "  he  demanded. 

She  did  not  answer  ;  her  look  and  her  at- 
tention were  fixed  upon  me. 

**  You  are  not  quite  convinced  he  is  all  that 
I  have  declared  him  to  be  ? "  she  said,  moving 
towards  me.  '*  You  want  to  know  what  I  saw 
and  whether  there  is  not  some  loophole  by 
which  you  can  escape  from  utterly  condemning 
him.  Well,  you  shall  have  my  story.  I  ask 
nothing  more  of  you  than  that."  And  with  a 
quiet  ignoring  of  his  presence  that  was  full  of 
contempt,  she  drew  up  to  my  side  and  calmly 
began  :  "  You  have  seen  me  in  the  streets  in 
the  garb  of  my  brother  ?  " 

"  Your  brother  ?  "  cried  a  startled  voice. 

It  was  D wight  Pollard  who  spoke.  He  had 
sprung  to  her  side  and  grasped  her  fiercely  by 
the  wrist.  It  was  a  picture  ;  all  the  more  that 
neither  of  them  said  any  thing  further,  but 
stood  so,  surveying  each  other,  till  he  thought 
fit  to  drop  her  arm  and  draw  back,  when  she 
quietly  went  on  as  though  no  interruption  had 
occurred.  '  \ 


Guy  Pollard. 


179 


*'  It  was  a  convenient  disguise,  enabling  me 
to  do  and  learn  many  things.  It  also  made  it 
possible  for  me  to  be  out  in  the  evening  alone, 
and  allowed  me  to  visit  certain  places  where 
otherwise  I  should  have  been  any  thing  but 
welcome.  It  also  satisfied  a  spirit  of  adven- 
ture which  I  possess,  and  led  to  the  experience 
which  I  am  now  about  to  relate.  Miss  Ster- 
ling, my  brother  has  one  peculiarity.  He  can 
be  intrusted  to  carry  a  message,  and  forget  it 
ten  minutes  after  it  is  delivered.  This  being 
generally  known  in  town,  I  was  not  at  all  sur- 
prised when  one  evening,  as  I  was  traversing 
a  very  dark  street,  I  was  met  and  accosted  by 
a  muffled  figure,  who  asked  me  if  I  would  run 
to  Mr.  Barrows'  house  for  him.  I  was  about 
to  say  No,  when  something  in  his  general  air 
and  manner  deterred  me,  and  I  changed  it  into 
the  half-laughing,  half-eager  assent  which  my 
brother  uses  on  such  occasions.  The  man  im- 
mediately stooped  to  my  ear  and  whispered  : 

'*  *  Tell  Mr.  Barrows  to  come  with  all  speed 
to  the  old  mill.  A  man  has  been  thrown  from 
his  carriage  and  is  dyinor  there.  He  wants 
Mr.  Barrows'  prayers  ai^d  consolation.  Can 
you  remember  ? ' 


* ! » 


1 80 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery, 


**  I  nodded  my  head  and  ran  off.  I  was 
fearful,  if  I  stayed,  I  would  betray  myself ;  for 
the  voice,  with  all  its  attempted  disguise,  was 
that  of  Guy  Pollard,  and  the  man  injured 
might  for  all  I  knew  be  his  brother.  Before  I 
reached  Mr.  Barrows'  door,  however,  I  began 
to  have  my  doubts.  Something  in  the  man's 
manner  betrayed  mystery,  and  as  Guy  Pollard 
had  never  been  a  favorite  of  mine,  I  naturally 
gave  to  this  any  thing  but  a  favorable  interpre- 
tation. I  did  not  stop,  though,  because  I 
doubted.  On  the  contrary,  I  pushed  forward, 
for  if  there  was  a  secret,  I  must  know  it ;  and 
how  could  I  learn  it  so  readily  or  so  well  as 
by  following  Mr.  Barrows  on  his  errand  of 
mercy  ? 

*'  The  person  who  came  to  the  door  in  an- 
swer to  my  summons  was  fortunately  Mr.  Bar- 
rows himself ;  fortunately  for  me,  that  is  ;  I 
cannot  say  it  was  altogether  fortunately  for 
him.  He  had  a  little  book  in  his  hand,  and 
seemed  disturbed  when  I  gave  him  my  mes- 
sage. He  did  not  hesitate,  however.  Being 
of  an  unsuspicious  nature,  he  never  dreamed 
that  all  was  not  as  I  said,  especially  as  he  knew 
my  brother  well,  and  was  thoroughly  acquaint- 

•   ■  \ 


Guy  Pollard, 


i8i 


ed  with  the  exactness  with  which  he  always 
executed  an  errand.  But  he  did  not  want  to 
go  ;  that  I  saw  clearly,  and  laid  it  all  to  the  Ht- 
tle  book  ;  for  he  was  the  kindest  man  who  ever 
lived,  and  never  was  known  to  shirk  a  duty  be- 
cause it  was  unpleasant  or  hard. 

"  I  have  said  he  knew  my  brother  well.  Re- 
membering this  when  he  came  down  stairs 
again  ready  to  accompany  me,  I  assumed  the 
wildest  manner  in  which  my  brother  ever  in- 
dulged, that  I  might  have  some  excuse  for  not 
remaining  at  his  side  while  still  accompanying 
him  in  his  walk.  The  consequence  was  that 
not  a  dozen  words  passed  between  us,  and  I 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  him  draw  near 
the  old  mill  in  almost  complete  forgetfulness 
of  my  proximity.  This  was  what  I  wanted, 
for  in  the  few  minutes  I  had  to  think,  many 
curious  surmises  had  risen  in  my  mind,  and  I 
wished  to  perform  my  little  part  in  this  advent- 
ure without  hindrance  from  his  watchfulness 
or  care. 

"It  was  a  very  dark  night,  as  you  remem- 
ber, Dwight  Pollard,  and  it  is  no  wonder  that 
neither  he  nor  the  man  who  came  out  of  the 
doorway  to  meet  him  saw  the  slight  figure  that 


'  (' ' 


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The  Mill  Mystery. 


crouched  against  the  wall  close  by  the  door 
they  had  to  enter.  And  if  they  had  seen  it, 
what  would  they  have  thought  ?  That  the  idiot 
boy  was  only  more  freakish  than  usual,  or  was 
waiting  about  for  the  dime  which  was  the  usual 
pay  for  his  services.  Neither  the  clouds,  nor 
the  trees,  nor  the  surrounding  darkness  would 
have  whispered  that  an  eager  woman's  heart 
beat  under  that  boy's  jacket,  and  that  they 
had  better  trust  the  wind  in  its  sweep,  the 
water  in  its  rush,  or  the  fire  in  its  ravaging, 
than  the  will  that  lay  coiled  behind  the  feebly 
moving  lip  and  wandering,  restless  eye  of  the 
seeming  idiot  who  knelt  there. 

'*  So  I  was  safe  and  for  the  moment  could 
hear  and  see.  And  this  was  what  I  saw  :  A 
tall  and  gentlemanly  form,  carrying  a  lantern 
which  he  took  pains  should  shine  on  Mr.  Bar- 
rows' face  and  not  on  his  own.  The  expres- 
sion of  the  former  was,  therefore,  plain  to  me, 
and  in  it  I  read  something  more  than  reluc- 
tance, something  which  I  dimly  felt  to  be  fear. 
His  anxiety,  however,  did  not  seem  to  spring 
from  his  companion,  but  from  the  building  he 
was  about  to  enter,  for  it  was  when  he  looked 
up  at  its  frowning  walls  and  shadowy  portal 


Guy  Pollard, 


183 


that  I  saw  him  shudder  and  turn  pale.  They 
went  in,  however.  Not  without  a  question  or 
two  from  Mr.  Barrows  as  to  whom  his  guide 
was  and  where  the  sick  man  lay,  to  all  of  which 
the  other  responded  shortly  or  failed  to  re- 
spond at  all,  facts  which  went  far  to  convince 
me  that  a  deception  of  some  kind  was  being 
practised  upon  the  confiding  clergyman. 

"  I  was  consequently  in  a  fever  of  impatience 
to  follow  them  in,  and  had  at  last  made  up  my 
mind  to  do  so,  when  I  heard  a  deep  sigh,  and 
glancing  up  towards  the  doorway,  saw  that  it 
was  again  occupied  by  the  dark  figure  which  I 
had  so  lately  seen  pass  in  with  Mr.  Barrows. 
He  had  no  lantern  now,  and  I  could  not  even 
discern  the  full  outlines  of  his  form,  but  his 
sigh  being  repeated,  I  knew  who  he  was  as 
certainly  as  if  I  had  seen  him,  for  it  was  one 
which  had  often  been  breathed  in  my  ears,  and 
was  as  well  known  to  me  as  the  beatings  of 
my  own  heart.  This  discovery,  as  you  may 
believe.  Miss  Sterling,  did  not  tend  to  allay 
either  my  curiosity  or  my  impatience,  and  when 
in  a  few  minutes  the  watcher  drew  back,  I 
stole  from  my  hiding-place,  and  creeping  up  to 
the  open  doorway,  listened.    A  sound  of  pacing 


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1 84 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


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Steps  came  to  my  ears.     The  entrance   was 
guarded. 

'*  For  a  moment  I  stood  baffled,  then  re- 
membering the  lantern  which  had  been  carried 
into  the  building,  I  withdrew  quietly  from  the 
door,  and  began  a  tour  of  inspection  round 
about  the  mill  in  the  hope  of  spying  some 
glimmer  of  light  from  one  or  more  of  the 
many  windows,  and  in  this  way  learn  the  ex- 
act spot  to  which  Mr.  Barrows  had  been  taken. 
It  was  a  task  of  no  mean  difficulty,  Miss  Ster- 
ling, for  the  bushes  cluster  thick  about  those 
walls,  and  I  had  no  light  to  warn  me  of  their 
whereabouts  or  of  the  many  loose  stones  that 
lay  in  heaps  here  and  there  along  the  way. 
But  I  would  not  have  stopped  if  firebrands 
had  been  under  my  feet,  nor  did  I  cease  my 
exertions  or  lose  my  hope  till  I  reached  the 
back  of  the  mill  and  found  it  as  dark  as  the 
side  and  front.  Then  indeed  I  did  begin  to 
despair,  for  the  place  was  so  solitary  and  remote 
from  observation,  I  could  not  conceive  of  any 
better  being  found  for  purposes  that  required 
secrecy  or  concealment.  Yet  the  sombre  walls 
rose  before  me,  dark  and  unrelieved  against 
the  sky ;  and  nothing  remained  for  me  but  to 


11 


I 


Guy  Pollard. 


185 


press  on  to  the  broad  west  end  and  see  if  that 
presented  as  unpromising  an  aspect  as  the  rest. 

"  I  accordingly  recommenced  my  toilsome 
journey,  rendered  positively  dangerous  now 
by  the  vicinity  of  the  water  and  the  steepness 
of  the  banks  that  led  down  to  it.  But  I  did 
not  go  far,  for  as,  in  my  avoidance  of  the 
stream,  I  drew  nearer  and  nearer  the  walls, 
I  caught  glimpses  of  what  I  at  first  thought  to 
be  the  flash  of  a  fire-fly  In  the  bushes,  but  in 
another  moment  discovered  to  be  the  fitful 
glimmer  of  a  light  through  a  window  heavily 
masked  with  leaves.  You  can  imagine  what 
followed  from  what  I  told  you.  How  I 
climbed  the  tree,  and  seated  myself  on  the 
limb  that  ran  along  by  the  window,  and  push- 
ing aside  the  leaves,  looked  In  upon  the  scene 
believed  by  those  engaged  in  it  to  be  as  abso- 
lutely unwitnessed  as  if  it  had  taken  place  in 
the  bowels  of  the  earth. 

"  And  what  did  I  see  there,  Miss  Sterling  ? 
At  first  little.  The  light  within  was  so  dim 
and  the  window  itself  so  high  from  the  floor, 
that  nothing  save  a  moving  shadow  or  two 
met  my  eye.  But  presently  becoming  accus- 
tomed to  the  position,  I  discovered  first  that  I 


i  k 


1 86 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


was  looking  In  on  a  portion  of  the  cellar,  and 
next  that  three  figures  stood  before  me,  two  of 
which  I  immediately  recognized  as  those  of 
Mr.  Barrows  and  Guy  Pollard.  But  the  third 
stood  in  shadow,  and  I  did  not  know  then,  nor 
do  I  know  now,  who  it  was,  though  I  have  my 
suspicions,  incredible  as  they  may  seem  even 
to  myself.  Mr.  Barrows,  whose  face  was  a 
stuuy  of  perplexity,  if  not  horror,  seemed  t-  be 
talking.  He  was  looking  Guy  Pollard  straight 
in  the  face  when  I  first  saw  him,  but  presently 
I  perceived  him  turn  and  fix  his  eyes  on  that 
mysterious  third  figure  which  he  seemed  to 
study  for  some  signs  of  relenting.  But  evi- 
dently without  success,  for  I  saw  his  eyes  droop 
and  his  hands  fall  helplessly  to  his  side  as  if 
he  felt  that  he  had  exhausted  every  argument, 
and  that  nothing  was  left  to  him  but  silence. 

"  All  this,  considering  the  circumstances  and 
the  scene,  was  certainly  startling  enough  even 
to  one  of  my  nature  and  history,  but  when  in 
a  few  minutes  later  I  saw  Guy  Pollard  step 
'  forward,  and  seizing  Mr.  Barrows  by  the  hand, 
draw  him  forward  to  what  seemed  to  be  the 
verge  of  a  pit,  I  own  that  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
seized  by  some  deadly  nightmare,  and  had  to 


Guy  Pollard, 


187 


turn  myself  away  and  look  at  the  skies  and 
trees  for  a  moment  to  make  sure  I  was  not  the 
victim  of  a  hallucination.  When  I  looked 
back  they  were  still  standing  there,  but  a 
change  had  come  over  Mr.  Barrows'  face. 
From  being  pale  it  had  become  ghastly,  and 
his  eyes,  fixed  and  fascinated,  were  gazing  into 
those  horrid  depths,  as  if  he  saw  there  the 
horrible  fate  which  afterwards  befell  him. 
Suddenly  he  drew  back,  covering  his  face  with 
his  hands,  and  I  saw  a  look  pass  from  Guy 
Pollard  to  that  watchful  third  figure,  which,  if 
it  had  not  been  on  the  face  of  a  gentleman,  I 
should  certainly  call  demoniacal.  The  next 
instant  the  third  figure  stepped  forward,  and 
before  I  could  move  or  utter  the  scream  that 
rose  to  my  lips,  Mr.  Barrows  had  disappeared 
from  view  in  the  horrid  recesses  of  that  black 
hole,  and  only  Guy  Pollard  and  that  other 
mysterious  one,  who  I  now  saw  wore  a  heavy 
black  domino  and  mask,  remained  standing  on 
its  dark  verge. 

"  A  cry,  so  smothered  that  it  scarcely  came 
to  my  ears,  rose  for  an  instant  from  the  pit, 
then  I  saw  Guy  Pollard  stoop  forward  and  put 
what  seemed  to  be  a  question  to  the  victim 


til 


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1 88 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


below.  From  the  nature  of  the  smile  that 
crossed  his  lip  as  he  drew  back,  I  judged  it 
had  not  been  answered  satisfactorily  ;  and  was 
made  yet  more  sure  of  this  when  the  third  per- 
son, stooping,  took  up  the  light,  and  beckon- 
ing to  Guy  Pollard,  began  to  walk  away.  Yes, 
Miss  Sterling,  I  am  telling  no  goblin  tale,  as 
you  can  see  if  you  will  cast  your  eyes  on  our 
companion  over  there.  They  walked  away, 
and  the  light  grew  dimmer  and  dimmer  and 
the  sense  of  horror  deeper  and  deeper,  till  a 
sudden  cry,  rising  shrill  enough  now  from  that 
deadly  hole,  drew  the  two  conspirators  slowly 
back  to  stand  again  upon  its  fatal  brink,  and, 
as  it  seemed  to  me,  propound  again  that  ques- 
tion, for  answer  to  which  they  appeared  ready 
to  barter  their  honor,  if  not  their  souls. 

'  *  And  this  time  they  got  it.  The  decisive 
gesture  of  the  masked  figure,  and  the  speed 
with  which  Guy  Pollard  disappeared  from  the 
spot,  testified  that  the  knowledge  they  wanted 
was  theirs,  and  that  only  some  sort  of  action 
remained  to  be  performed.  What  that  action 
was  I  could  not  imagine,  for,  though  Mr. 
Pollard  carried  away  the  lantern,  the  masked 
fiefure  had  remained. 

.     •     .  ■         .  ■■■\  • 


Guy  Pollard, 


189 


"  Meantime  darkness  was  ours  ;  a  terrible 
darkness,  as  you  may  imagine,  Miss  Sterling, 
in  which  it  was  impossible  not  to  wait  for  a 
repetition  of  that  smothered  cry  from  the 
depths  of  this  unknown  horror.  But  it  did  not 
come  ;  and  amid  a  silence  awful  as  the  grave, 
the  minutes  went  by  till  at  last,  to  my  great 
relief,  the  light  appeared  once  more  in  the  far 
recesses  of  the  cellar,  and  came  twinkling  on 
till  it  reached  the  masked  figure,  which,  to  all 
appearance,  had  not  moved  hand  or  foot  since 
it  went  away. 

*'  Miss  Sterling,  you  have  doubtless  consoled 
yourself  during  this  narration  with  the  thought 
that  the  evil  which  I  had  seen  done  had  been 
the  work  of  Guy  and  a  person  who  need  not 
necessarily  have  been  our  friend  here.  But  I 
must  shatter  whatever  satisfaction  you  may  have 
derived  from  the  possible  absence  of  Dwight 
Pollard  from  this  scene,  by  saying  that  when  the 
lantern  paused  and  I  had  the  opportunity  to  see 
who  carried  it,  I  found  that  it  was  no  longer 
in  the  hand  of  the  younger  brother,  but  had 
been  transferred  to  that  of  Dwight,  and  that 
he,  not  Guy,  now  stood  in  the  cellar  before  me. 

*'As  J   realize  that  we  are  not  alone,  I  will 


'1 


li 


I'] 

1! 


i 


I     '1 


Ml 


i  1 

'1 

1 

1 

1 

igo 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


\n 


I .  ^S 


not  dilate  upon  his  appearance,  much  as  it 
struck  me  at  the  time.  I  will  merely  say  he 
offered  a  contrast  to  Guy,  who,  if  I  may  speak 
so  plainly  in  this  presence,  had  seemed  much 
at  home  in  the  task  he  had  set  himself,  uncon- 
genial as  one  might  consider  it  to  the  usual  in- 
stincts and  habits  of  a  gentleman.  But  Dwight 
— you  see  I  can  be  just,  Miss  Sterling — looked 
anxious  and  out  of  place ;  and,  instead  of 
seeming  to  be  prepared  for  the  situation, 
turned  and  peered  anxiously  about  him,  as  if 
in  search  of  the  clergyman  he  expected  to  find 
standing  somewhere  on  this  spot.  His  sur- 
prise and  horror  when  the  masked  figure 
pointed  to  the  pit  were  evident.  Miss  Sterling  ; 
but  it  was  a  surprise  and  a  horror  that  immedi- 
ately settled  into  resignation,  if  not  apathy  ; 
and  after  his  first  glance  and  shuddering  start 
in  that  direction  he  did  not  stir  again,  but 
stood  quite  like  a  statue  while  the  masked  fig- 
ure spoke,  and  when  he  did  move  it  was  to 
return  the  way  he  had  come,  without  a  look  or 
a  gesture  toward  the  sombre  hole  where  so 
much  that  was  manly  and  kind  lay  sunk  in  a 
darkness  that  must  have  seemed  to  that  sensi- 
tive nature  the  prototype  of  his  grave." 


s 


A 


^•«j 


Guy  Pollard, 


191 


as   It 
say  he 
speak 
much 
uncon- 
aual  in- 
Dwight 
-looked 
:ead   of 
tuation, 
m,  as  if 
,  to  find 
iis  sur- 
I.   figure 
terling  ; 
mmedi- 
ipathy ; 
ig  start 
in,  but 
,ked  fig- 
was  to 
look  or 
here  so 
nk  in  a 
t  sensi- 


"  And  is  that  all,  Miss  Colwell  ?"  came  with 
a  strange  intonation  from  Dwight  Pollard's 
lips,  as  she  paused,  with  a  triumphant  look  in 
my  direction. 

"  It  is  all  I  have  to  tell,"  was  the  reply ;  and 
it  struck  me  that  her  tone  was  as  peculiar  as 
his.  **  Minutes,  seconds  even,  spent  under 
such  circumstances,  seem  like  hours  ;  and  after 
a  spell  of  what  appeared  an  interminable  wait- 
ing, I  allowed  myself  to  be  overcome  by  the 
disquiet  and  terror  of  my  situation,  and  drop- 
ping from  my  perch,  crept  home." 

''You  should  have  stayed  another  hour,"  he 
dryly  observed.  **  I  wonder  at  an  impatience 
you  had  never  manifested  till  then." 

**  Do  you  ?  "• 

The  meaning  with  which  she  said  this,  the 
gesture  with  which  she  gave  it  weight,  struck 
us  both  aback. 

"  Woman  !  "  he  thundered,  coming  near  to 
her  with  the  mingled  daring  and  repugnance 
with  which  one  advances  to  crush  a  snake, 
**do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  going  to 
publish  this  much  of  your  story  and  publish  no 
more  ?  That  you  will  tell  the  world  this  and 
not  tell " 


192 


y 


Ir 


!i 


Ii1 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


"  What  I  did  not  see  ? "  she  interpolated, 
looking  him  straight  in  the  eye  as  might  the 
serpent  to  which  I  have  compared  her. 

"  Good  God  !  "  was  his  horrified  exclama- 
**  and  yet  you  know- 


tion 


"  Pardon  me,"  her  voice  broke  in  again. 
*'  You  have  heard  what  I  know,"  and  she  bowed 
with  such  an  inimitable  and  mocking  grace, 
and  yet  with  such  an  air  of  sinister  resolve, 
that  he  stood  like  one  fascinated,  and  let  her 
move  away  towards  the  door  without  seeking 
by  word  or  look  to  stop  her.  "  I  hold  you 
tight,  you  see,"  were  her  parting  words  to  him 
as  she  paused  just  upon  the  threshold  to  give 
us  a  last  and  scornful  look.  "  So  tight,"  she 
added,  shaking  her  close-shut  hand,  *'  that  I 
doubt  if  even  your  life  could  escape  should  I 
choose  to  remember  in  court  what  I  have  re- 
membered before  you  two  here  to-day." 

'*  And  forget "  he  began. 

**  And  forget,"  she  repeated,  "  what  might 
defeat  the  ends  of  that  justice  which  demands 
a  life  for  the  one  so  wantonly  sacrificed  in  the 
vat  whose  hideous  depths  now  open  almost 
under  your  feet."  And,  having  said  these 
words,  she  turned  to  go,  when,  looking  up. 


Guy  Pollard, 


193 


she  found  her  passage  barred  by  the  dark  form 
of  Guy  Pollard,  who,  standing  in  the  doorway 
with  his  hands  upon  either  lintel,  surveyed  her 
with  his  saturnine  smile,  in  which  for  this  once  * 
I  saw  something  that  did  not  make  me  recoil, 
certain  as  I  now  was  of  his  innate  villainy 
and  absolute  connection  with  Mr.  Barrows' 
death. 

She  herself  seemed  to  feel  that  she  had  met 
her  master;  for,  with  a  hurried  look  in  his 
face,  she  drew  slowly  back,  and,  folding  her 
arms,  waited  for  him  to  move  with  a  patience 
too  nonchalant  not  to  be  forced. 

But  he  did  not  seem  inclined  to  move,  and  I 
beheld  a  faint  blush  as  of  anger  break  out  on 
her  cheek,  though  her  attitude  retained  its  air 
of  superb  indifference,  and  her  lips,  where  they 
closed  upon  each  other,  did  not  so  much  as 
break  their  lines  for  an  instant. 

**  You  are  not  going.  Miss  Colwell,"  were  the 
words  with  which  he  at  last  broke  the  almost 
intolerable  suspense  of  the  moment ;  "  at  least, 
not  till  you  have  given  us  the  date  of  this  re- 
markable experience  of  yours." 

"  The  date  ?  "  she  repeated,  icily.  "  What 
day  was  it  that  Mr.  Barrows  was  found  in  the 


It 


? 


II 


/  « 


i  \f' 


1^  II 


:>  ^u  I 


194 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


vat  ?  "  she  inquired,  turning  to  me  with  an  in- 
different look.  • 

His  hand  fell  like  iron  on  her  arm. 

"  You  need  not  appeal  to  Miss  Sterling," 
he  remarked.  "  /  am  asking  you  this  question, 
and  I  am  not  a  man  to  be  balked  nor  fright- 
ened by  you  when  my  life  itself  is  at  stake. 
What  night  was  it  on  which  you  saw  me  place 
Mr.  Barrows  in  the  vat  ?  I  command  you  to 
tell  me,  or " 

His  hands  closed  on  her  arm,  and — she  did 
not  scream,  but  I  did  ;  for  the  look  of  the  in- 
quisitor was  in  his  face,  and  I  saw  that  she 
must  succumb,  or  be  broken  like  a  reed  before 
our  eyes. 

She  chose  to  succumb.  Deadly  pale  and 
shaking  with  the  terror  with  which  he  evident- 
ly inspired  her,  she  turned  like  a  wild  creature 
caught  in  the  toils,  and  gasped  out : 

''  It  was  a  night  in  August — the  seventeenth, 
I  think.  I  wish  you  and  your  brother  much 
joy  of  the  acknowledgment." 

He  did  not  answer,  only  dropped  her  arm, 
and,  looking  at  me,  remarked  : 

"  I  think  that  puts  a  different  face  upon  the 
matter." 


Guy  Pollard. 


195 


It  did  indeed.     For  Mr.  Barrows  had  only 

been    dead    four   days,    and    to-day   was    the 

twenty-eight  of  Se^  cember. 

¥f  ^  #  *  #  ^ 

I  do  not  know  how  lon^  it  was  before  I 
allowed  the  wonder  and  perplexity  which  this 
extraordinary  disclosure  aroused  in  me  to  ex- 
press itself  in  words.  The  shock  which  had 
been  communicated  to  me  was  so  great,  I  had 
neither  thought  nor  feeling  left,  and  it  was  not 
till  I  perceived  every  eye  fixed  upon  me  that  I 
found  the  power  to  say  : 

**  Then  Mr.  Barrows'  death  was  not  the 
result  of  that  night's  work.  The  hand  that 
plunged  him  into  the  vat  drew  him  out  again. 

But — but "     Here  my  tongue  failed  me. 

I  could  only  look  the  question  with  which  my 
mind  was  full. 

Dwight  Pollard  immediately  stepped  for- 
ward. 

"  But  whose  were  the  hands  that  thrust  him 
back  four  days  ago  ?  That  is  what  you  would 
ask,  is  it  not,  Miss  Sterling  ?  "  he  inquired,  with 
a  force  and  firmness  he  had  not  before  displayed. 

"Yes,"  I  endeavored  to  say,  though  I  doubt 
if  a  sound  passed  my  lips.    * 


"I 


li 


I- 


lil 


li't 


196 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


His  face  took  a  more  earnest  cast,  his  voice 
a  still  deeper  tone. 

*'  Miss  Sterling,"  he  began,  meeting  my  e3^e 
with  what  might  have  been  the  bravado  of  de- 
spair, but  which  I  was  fain  to  believe  the 
courage  of  truth,  "after  what  you  have  just 
heard,  it  would  be  strange,  perhaps,  if  you 
should  place  much  belief  in  any  thing  we  may 
say  upon  this  subject.  And  yet  it  is  my  busi- 
ness to  declare,  and  that  with  all  the  force  and 
assurance  of  which  I  am  capable,  that  we  know 
no  more  than  you,  how  Mr.  Barrows  came  to 
find  himself  again  in  that  place  ;  that  we  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  that  his  death,  oc- 
curring in  the  manner  and  at  the  spot  it  did, 
was  a  surprise  to  us  which  cost  my  mother  her 

life,  and  me well,  almost  my  reason,"    he 

added,  in  a  lower  tone,  turning  away  his  face. 

"Can  this  be  true?"  I  asked  myself,  un- 
consciously taking  on  an  air  of  determination, 
as  I  remembered  I  was  prejudiced  in  his  favor 
and  wished  to  believe  him  innocent  of  this 
crime. 

This  movement  on  my  part,  slight  as  it  was, 
was  evidently  seen  and  misinterpreted  by  them 
all.     For  a  look  of-  disappointment  came  into 


Guy  Pollard, 


197 


Dwight  Pollard's  face,  while  from  his  brother's 
eye   flashed  a  dangerous  gleam    that   almost 
made    me  oblivious   to    the   fact  that  Rhoda. 
Colwell  was  speaking  words  full  of  meaning 
and  venom. 

"  A  specious  declaration  ! "  she  exclaimed. 
"A  jury  would  believe  such  assertions,  of 
course  ;  so  would  the  world  at  large,  It  is  so 
easy  to  credit  that  this  simple  and  ordinary 
method  of  disposing  of  a  valuable  life  should 
enter  the  mind  of  another  person  ! " 

*'  It  is  as  easy  to  credit  that,"  answered 
Dwight  Pollard, with  an  emphasis  which  showed 
that  he,  if  not  I,  felt  the  force  of  this  sarcasm, 
*'as  it  would  be  to  believe  that  Mr.  Barrows 
would  return  to  a  spot  so  fraught  with  hideous 
memories,  except  under  the  Influence  of  a  pur- 
pose which  made  him  blind  to  all  but  its  ac- 
complishment. The  fact  that  he  died  there, 
proves  to  my  mind  that  no  other  will  than  his 
own  plunged  him  anew  into  that  dreadful  vat." 

"  Ah  !  and  so  you  are  going  to  ascribe  his 
death  to  suicide  ?  "  she  Inquired,  with  a  curl  of 
her  lip  that  was  full  of  disdain. 

"  Yes,"  he  sternly  responded,  with  no  signs 
of  wavering  now,  though  her  looks  might  well 


I 


i 


m 


3  I 


I 


I  - 


hi 


; 


198 


7%^  Mill  Mystery. 


have  stung  the  stoutest  soul  into  some  show  of 
weakness. 

**  It  is  a  wise  stroke,"  she  laughed,  with  in- 
describable emphasis.  **  It  has  so  much  in 
Mr.  Barrows'  life  and  character  to  back  it.  And 
may  I  ask,"  she  went  on,  with  a  look  that  in- 
cluded Guy  Pollard's  silent  and  contemptuous 
figure  in  its  scope,  "whether  you  have  anything 
but  words  wherewith  to  impress  your  belief 
upon  the  public  ?  I  have  heard  that  judge  and 
jury  like  facts,  or,  at  the  least,  circumstantial 
proof  that  a  man's  denial  is  a  true  one." 

"  And  proofs  we  have  !  " 

It  was  Guy  Pollard  who  spoke  this  time, 
and  with  an  icy  self-possession  that  made  her 
shiver  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  Proofs?"  she  repeated.  \ 

'*  That  we  were  not  near  the  mill  the  night 
before  Mr.  Barrows  was  found.  We  were 
both  out  of  town,  and  did  not  return  till  about 
the  time  the  accident  was  discovered." 

"  Ah  ! "  was  her  single  sarcastic  rejoinder  ; 
but  I  saw — we  all  saw — that  the  blow  had  told, 
bravely  as  she  tried  to  hide  it. 

"  You  can  make  nothing  by  accusing  us  of 
this  crime,"  he  continued ;    "  and  if  I   might 


aP     »  *•   •    *  < 


Guy  Pollard, 


199 


play  the  part  of  a  friend  to  you,  I  would  advise 

you    not  to   attempt  it."      And  his  cold   eye 

rested  for  a  moment  on  hers  before  he  turned 

and   walked    away    to    the   other    end   of  the 

room. 

The  look,  the  action,  was  full  of  contempt, 

but  she  did  not  seem  to  feel  it.   Following  him 

with   her  gaze   for  a  minute,  she  murmured, 

quietly  :    "  We  will  see  "  ;    then   turning  her 

look  upon  Dwight  and  myself,  added  slowly  : 

'*  I  think  you  are  effectually  separated  at  all 

events,"    and    was   gone    almost    without   our 

realizing  how  or  where. 

I  did  not  linger  long  behind.      What  I  said 

or  what  they  said  I  cannot  remember.     I  only 

know  that  in  a  few  minutes  I  too  was  flying 

along  the  highway,  eager  for  the  refuge  which 

my  solitary   home   offered    me.     Events  had 

rushed  upon  me  too  thickly  and  too  fast.     I 

felt  ill  as  I  passed  the  threshold  of  my  room, 

and  was  barely  conscious  when  a  few  hours 

later  the  landlady  came  in  to  see  why  I  had  not 

made  my  appearance  at  the  supper-table. 


'I 


I 


v:^ 


!  i' 


M 


f- 


'     1 


i! 


i'   < 


XIV. 

CORRESPONDENCE. 
Letters,  my  Lord. — Hamlet. 

MY  illness,  though  severe,  was  not  of 
long  continuance.  In  a  week  I  was 
able  to  be  about  my  room  ;  and  in  a  fortnight 
I  was  allowed  to  read  the  letters  that  had  come 
to  me.  There  were  two,  either  of  them  cal- 
culated to  awaken  dangerous  emotions  ;  and, 
taken  together,  making  a  draft  on  my  powers 
which  my  newly  gained  health  found  it  hard 
to  sustain.  The  one  was  signed  Rhoda  Col- 
well,  and  the  other  Dwight  Pollard.  I  read 
Rhoda  Colwell's  first. 

It  opened  without  preamble  : 

I  sought  revenge  and  I  have  found  it.  Not  in  the  way 
I  anticipated,  perhaps,  but  still  in  a  way  good  enough  to 
satisfy  both  myself  and  the  spirit  of  justice.  You  will 
never  trust  Dwight  Pollard  again.  You  will  never  come 
any  nearer  to  him  than  you  have  to-day.  You  have  an 
upright  soul,  and  whether  you  believe  his  declarations  or 

200 


Correspondence, 


20I 


not,  can  be  safely  relied  upon  to  hold  yourself  aloof  from 
a  man  who  could  lend  his  countenance  to  such  a  coward- 
ly deed  as  I  saw  perpetrated  in  the  old  cellar  a  month  or 
so  ago.  Honor  does  not  wed  with  dishonor,  nor  truth 
with  treachery.  Constance  Sterling  may  marry  whom 
she  may  ;  it  will  never  be  Dwight  Pollard. 

Convinced  of  this,  I  have  decided  to  push  my  vengeance 
no  further.  Not  that  I  believe  Mr.  Barrows  com- 
mitted suicide,  any  more  than  I  believe  that  Dwight  and 
Guy  Pollard  could  be  saved  by  any  mere  alibi,  if  I  chose 
to  speak.  Men  like  them  can  find  ready  tools  to  do  their 
work,  and  if  they  had  been  an  hundred  miles  away  instead 
of  some  six,  I  should  still  think  that  the  will  which 
plunged  Mr.  Barrows  into  his  dreadful  grave  was  the 
same  which  once  before  had  made  him  taste  the  horrors 
of  his  threatened  doom.  But  public  disgrace  and  execra- 
tion are  not  what  I  seek  for  my  recreant  lover.  The 
inner  anguish  which  no  eye  can  see  is  what  I  have  been 
forced  to  endure  and  what  he  shall  be  made  to  suffer. 
Guilty  or  not  he  can  never  escape  that  now  ;  and  it  is  a 
future  which  I  gloat  upon  and  from  which  I  would  not 
have  him  escape,  no,  not  at  the  cost  of  his  life,  if  that  life 
were  mine,  and  I  could  shorten  it  at  a  stroke. 

And  yet  since  human  nature  is  human  nature,  and  good 
hearts  as  well  as  bad  yield  sometimes  to  a  fatal  weakness, 
I  would  add  that  the  facts  which  I  suppress  are  always 
facts,  and  that  if  I  see  in  you  or  him  any  forgetfulness  of 
the  gulf  that  separates  you,  I  shall  not  think  it  too  late  to 
speak,  though  months  have  been  added  to  months,  and 
years  to  years,  and  I  am  no  longer  any  thing  but  old 

Rhoda  Colwell. 


it 

If 


L 


202 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


!       ( 


Close  upon  these  words  I  read  these  others  : 

Miss  Sterling  : — Pardon  me  tliat  I  presume  to  address 
you.  Pardon  the  folly,  the  weakness  of  a  man  who, 
having  known  you  for  less  than  a  week,  finds  the  loss  of 
your  esteem  the  hardest  of  the  many  miseries  he  is  called 
upon  to  bear. 

I  know  that  I  can  never  recover  this  esteem — if,  in- 
deed, I  ever  possessed  it.  The  revelation  of  the  secret 
which  disgraced  our  family  has  been  fatal  ;  the  secret 
which  our  mother  commanded  us  on  her  death-bed  to 
preserve,  foreseeing  that,  if  it  should  become  known  that 
we  had  been  guilty  of  the  occurrence  of  the  seventeenth 
of  August,  nothing  could  save  us  from  the  suspicion  that 
we  were  guilty  of  the  real  catastrophe  of  the  twenty- 
fourth  of  September.  Alas  !  my  mother  was  a  keen 
woman,  but  she  did  not  reckon  upon  Rhoda  Colwell  ; 
she  did  not  reckon  upon  you.  She  thought  if  we 
kept  silence,  hell  and  heaven  would  find  no  tongue. 
But  hell  and  heaven  have  both  spoken,  and  we  stand 
suspected  of  c.ime,  if  not  absolutely  accused  of  it. 

Hard  as  this  is  to  bear — and  it  is  harder  than  you 
might  think  for  one  in  whom  the  base  and  r  owardly  ac- 
tion into  which  he  was  betrayed  a  month  ago  has  not 
entirely  obliterated  the  sense  of  honor — I  neither  dare 
to  complain  of  it  nor  of  the  possible  consequences 
which  may  follow  if  Rhoda  Colwell  slights  my  brother's 
warning  and  carries  out  her  revenge  to  the  full.  Deeds 
of  treachery  and  shame  must  bear  their  natural  fruit,  and 
we  are  but  reaping  what  we  sowed  on  that  dreadful  night 
when  we  allowed  David  Barrows  to  taste  the  horrors  of 
his  future  grave.     But  though  I  do  not  complain,  I  would 


Correspondence, 


203 


fain  say  a  final  word  to  one  whose  truth  and  candor  have 
stood  in  such  conspicuous  relief  to  my  own  secrecy  and 
repression.  Not  in  way  of  hope,  not  in  way  of  explana- 
tion even.  What  we  have  done  we  have  done,  and  it 
would  little  become  me  to  assign  motives  and  reasons  for 
what  in  your  eyes — and,  I  must  now  allow,  in  my  own — 
no  motive  or  reason  can  justify  or  even  excuse.  I  can 
only  place  myself  before  you  as  one  who  abhors  his  own 
past  ;  regarding  it,  indeed,  with  such  remorse  and  detes- 
tation that  I  would  esteem  myself  blessed  if  it  had  been 
my  body,  instead  of  that  of  Mr.  Barrows,  which  had 
been  drawn  from  the  fatal  pit.  Not  that  any  repentance 
can  rid  me  of  the  stain  which  has  fallen  upon  my  manhood, 
or  make  me  worthy  of  the  honor  of  your  faintest  glance  ; 
but  it  may  make  me  a  less  debased  object  in  your  eyes, 
and  I  would  secure  that  much  grace  for  myself  even  at 
the  expense  of  what  many  might  consider  an  unnecessary 
humiliation.  For  you  have  made  upon  my  mind  in  the 
short  time  I  have  known  you  a  deep,  and,  as  I  earnestly 
believe,  a  most  lasting  and  salutary  impression.  Truth, 
candor,  integrity,  and  a  genuine  loyalty  to  all  that  is 
noblest  and  best  in  human  nature  no  longer  seem  to  me 
like  mere  names  since  I  have  met  you.  The  selfishness 
that  makes  dark  deeds  possible  has  revealed  itself  to  me 
in  all  its  hideous  deformity  since  the  light  of  your  pure 
ideal  fell  upon  it  ;  and  while  naught  on  earth  can  restore 
me  to  happiness,  or  even  to  that  equanimity  of  mind 
which  my  careless  boyhood  enjoyed,  it  would  still  afford 
me  somethmg  like  relief  to  know  that  you  recognize  the 
beginning  of  a  new  life  in  me,  which,  if  not  all  you 
could  desire,  still  has  that  gleam  of  light  upon  it  which 
redeems  it  from  being  what  it  was  before  I  knew  you.     1 


!h     b 


\     :'l 


Mwr 

is."  siig 


204 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery, 


s  '\ 


will,  therefore,  :13k  not  a  word  from  you,  but  a  look.  If, 
when  I  pass  your  house  to-morrow  afternoon  at  six 
o'clock,  I  see  you  standing  in  the  window,  I  shall  know 
ycu  grant  me  the  encourag  ...■-.  .  of  your  sympathy,  a 
sympathy  which  will  help  me  to  endure  the  worst  of  all 
my  thoughts,  that  indirectly,  if  not  directly,  Guy  and 
myself  may  be  guilty  of  Mr.  Barrows'  death  ;  that  our 
action  may  have  given  him  an  impetus  to  destroy  him- 
self, or  at  least  have  shown  him  the  way  to  end  his  life 
in  a  seemingly  secret  manner  ;  though  why  a  man  so  re- 
spected and  manifestly  happy  as  he  should  wish  to  close 
his  career  so  suddenly,  is  as  great  a  mystery  to  me  as  it 
can  possibly  be  to  you. 

One  other  word  and  I  am  done.  If,  in  the  mercy  of 
your  gentle  and  upright  nature,  you  accord  me  this  favor, 
do  not  fear  that  I  shall  take  advantage  of  it,  even  in  my 
thoughts.  Nor  need  you  think  that  by  so  doing  you  may 
hamper  yourself  in  the  performance  of  a  future  duty  ; 
since  it  would  be  as  impossible  for  me  to  ask,  as  for  you 
to  grant,  the  least  suppression  of  the  truth  on  your  part ; 
your  candor  being  the  charm  of  all  others  which  has 
most  attracted  my  admiration  and  secured  my  regard. 

DwiGHT  Pollard. 

Of  the  emotions  produced  in  me  by  these 
two  letters  I  will  say  nothing  ;  I  will  only 
mention  some  of  my  thoughts.  The  first  nat- 
urally was,  that  owing  to  my  illness  I  had  not 
received  the  latter  letter  till  a  week  after  it  was 
written  ;    consequently    Dwight    Pollard   had 


\ 


Correspondence. 


205 


failed  to  obtain  the  slight  token  of  encourage- 
ment which  he  had  requested.  This  wasi,  a 
source  of  deep  regret  to  me,  all  the  more  that 
I  did  not  know  how  to  rectify  the  evil  without 
running  the  risk  of  rousing  suspicion  in  the 
breast  of  Rhoda  Colwell.  For,  unreasonable 
as  it  may  seem,  her  words  had  roused  in  me  a 
dread  similar  to  that  which  one  might  feel  of  a 
scorpion  in  the  dark.  I  did  not  know  how 
near  she  might  be  to  me,  or  when  she  might 
strike.  The  least  stir,  the  least  turn  of  my 
head  towards  the  forbidden  object,  might  re- 
veal her  to  be  close  at  my  side.  I  neither 
dared  trust  the  silence  nor  the  fact  that  all 
seemed  well  with  me  at  present.  A  woman 
who  could  disguise  herself  as  she  could,  and 
whom  no  difficulty  deterred  from  gaining  her 
purpose,  was  not  one  to  brave  with  impunity, 
however  clear  might  seem  the  outlook.  I  felt 
as  if  my  very  thoughts  were  in  danger  from 
her  intuition,  and  scarcely  dared  breathe  my 
intentions  to  the  vvalls,  lest  the  treacherous 
breeze  should  cany  them  to  her  ears  and 
awaken  that  formidable  antagonism  which  in 
her  case  was  barbed  with  a  power  which  might 
easily  make  the  most  daring  quail.     And  yet 


ii 


2o6 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


\\ 


\%. 


she  must  be  braved  ;  for  not  to  save  his  life 
could  I  let  such  an  appeal  as  he  had  made  me 
go  unanswered  ;  no,  though  I  knew  the  possi- 
bility remained  of  its  being  simply  the  offspring 
of  a  keen  and  calculating^  mind  driven  to  its 
last  resource.  It  was  enough  that  I  felt  him 
to  be  true,  however  much  my  reason  might 
recognize  the  possibility  of  his  falsehood. 
Rather  than  slight  a  noble  spirit  struggling 
with  a  great  distress,  I  would  incur  any  penalty 
which  a  possible  lapse  of  judgment  might 
bring ;  my  temperament  being  such  that  I 
found  less  shame  in  the  thought  that  I  might 
be  deceive^\  than  that,  out  of  a  spirit  of  too 
great  caution  and  self-love,  I  should  fail  an 
unhappy  soul  at  the  moment  when  my  sympa- 
thy might  be  of  inestimable  benefit  to  its 
welfare. 

The  venomous  threats  and  extreme  show  of 
power  displayed  in  Rhoda  Colwell's  letter  had 
overreached  themselves.  They  roused  my 
pride.  They  made  me  question  whether  it 
was  necessary  for  us  to  live  under  such  a  do- 
minion of  suspense  as  she  had  prepared  for  us. 
\i  D wight  Pollard's  asseverations  were  true,  it 
would  be  a  cruel  waste  of  peace  and  happiness 


Correspondence, 


I' 
2or 


for  him  or  me  to  rest  under  such  a  subjection, 
when  by  a  little  bravery  at  the  outset  her  hold 
upon  us  might  be  annihilated  and  her  potency 
destroyed. 

The  emotions  which  I  have  agreed  to  ig- 
nore came  in  to  give  weight  to  this  thought. 
To  save  myself  it  was  necessary  to  prove 
Dwight  Pollard  true.  Not  only  my  sense  of 
justice,  but  the  very  life  and  soul  of  my  being, 
demanded  the  settling  of  all  suspicion  and  the 
establishment  of  my  trust  upon  a  sure  founda- 
tion. While  a  single  doubt  remained  in  my 
mind  I  was  liable  to  shame  before  my  best  self, 
and  shame  and  Constance  Sterling  did  not  mix 
easily  or  well,  especially  with  that  leaven  of 
self-interest  added,  to  which  I  have  alluded 
only  a  few  paragraphs  back. 

But  how,  with  my  lack  of  resources  and  the 
apparent  dearth  of  all  means  for  attaining  the 
end  I  had  in  view,  I  was  to  prove  Rhoda  Col- 
well's  insinuations  false,  and  Dwight  Pollard's 
assertion  true,  was  a  question  to  which  an  an- 
swer did  not  come  with  very  satisfactory  readi- 
ness. Even  the  simple  query  as  to  how  I  was 
to  explain  my  late  neglect  to  Dwight  Pollard 
occasioned  me   an  hour  of  anxious  thought ; 


208 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


■.f 


r: 


\\ 


and  it  was  not  till  I  remembered  that  the 
simplest  course  was  always  the  best,  and  that 
with  a  snake  in  the  grass  like  Rhoda  Colwell, 
the  most  fearless  foot  trod  with  the  greatest 
safety,  that  I  felt  my  difficulties  on  that  score 
melt  away.  I  would  write  to  Dwight  Pollard, 
and  I  would  tell  Rhoda  Colwell  I  had  done  so, 
thus  proving  to  her  that  I  meditated  nothing 
underhanded,  and  could  be  trusted  to  say  what 
I  would  do,  and  do  what  I  should  say. 

This  decision  taken,  I  sat  down  immediately 
and  penned  the  following  two  notes  : 

Miss  Rhoda  Colwell  : — Owing  to  illness,  your  letter 
has  just  been  rcud  by  me.  To  it  I  will  simply  reply  that 
you  are  right  in  believing  my  regard  could  never  be 
given  to  a  guilty  man.  As  long  as  the  faintest  doubt  of 
Mr.  Pollard  remains  in  my  mind  we  are  indeed  separated 
by  a  gulf.  But  let  that  doubt  in  any  way  be  removed, 
and  I  say  to  you  frankly  that  nothing  you  could  threaten 
or  the  world  perform,  would  prevent  my  yielding  to  him 
the  fullest  sympathy  and  the  most  hearty  encouragement. 

I  send  him  to-day,  in  the  same  mail  which  carries  this, 
a  few  lines,  a  copy  of  which  I  inclose  for  your  perusal. 
Yours,  ,  Constance  Sterling. 

Mr.  Dwight  Pollard  : — For  two  weeks  I  have  been 
too  ill  to  cross  my  room,  which  must  account  both  for 
this  note  and  the  tardiness  I  have  displayed  in  writing  it. 


Correspondence, 


209 


You  assert  that  you  know  nothing  of  the  causes  or 
manner  of  a  certain  catastrophe.  I  believe  you,  and 
hope  some  day  to  have  more  than  a  belief,  viz.,  a  surety 
of  its  truth  founded  on  absolute  evidence.  - 

Till  that  time  comes  we  go  our  several  ways,  secure  inr 
the  thought  that  to  the  steadfast  mind  calumny  itself  loses 
its  sting  when  met  by  an  earnest  purpose  to  be  and  do 
only  what  is  honest  and  upright. 

Constance  Sterling. 

If  you  have  any  further  communication  to  make  to  me, 
let  me  request  that  it  be  allowed  to  pass  through  the 
hands  of  Miss  Colwell.  My  reasons  for  this  are  well 
founded. 


m  i 


'\ 


11" 


til 


If 


if 


IL 


ii 


% 


*■« 


XV. 


A     G  O  S  S  I  p. 

This  something  settled  matter  in  his  heart, 
Whereon  his  brains  still  beating,  puts  him  thus 
From  fashion  of  himself. 

— Hamlet. 

I  HAD  not  taken  this  tone  with  both  my 
correspondents  without  a  secret  hope  of 
being  able  to  do  something  myself  towards 
the  establishment  of  Mr.  Pollard's  innocence. 
How,  I  could  not  very  plainly  perceive  that 
day  or  the  next,  but  as  time  elapsed  and  my 
brain  cleared  and  my  judgment  returned,  I 
at  last  saw  the  way  to  an  effort  which  might 
not  be  without  consequences  of  a  satisfactory 
nature.  What  that  effort  was  you  may  per- 
haps conjecture  from  the  fact  that  the  first 
walk  that  I  took  was  in  the  direction  of  the 
cottage  where  Mr.  Barrows  had  formerly  lived. 
The  rooms  which  he  had  occupied  were  for 
rent,  and  my  ostensible  errand  was  to  hire  them. 

aio  ^       , 


A  Gossip, 


211 


The  real  motive  of  my  visit,  however,  was  to 
learn  something  more  of  the  deceased  clergy- 
man's  life   and   ways   than    I  then  knew ;    if 
happily  out  of  some  hitherto  unnoticed  event 
in  his  late  history  I  might  receive  a  hint  which 
should  ultimately  lead  me  to  the  solution  of 
the  mystery  which  was  involving  my  happiness. 
I  was  not  as  unsuccessful  in  this  attempt  as 
one  might  anticipate.     The  lady  of  the  house 
was  a  gossip,  and  the  subject  of  Mr.  Barrows' 
death  was  an  inexhaustible  topic  of  interest  to 
her.     I   had    but   to   mention  his   name,   and 
straightway  a  tide  of  words  flowed  from  her 
lips,  which,  if  mostly  words,   contained  here 
and  there  intimations  of  certain  facts  which  I 
felt  it  was  well  enough  for  me  to  know,  even 
if  they  did  not  amount  to  any  thing  like  an 
explanation   of    the    tragedy.     Among   these 
was  one  which  only  my  fear  of  showing  myself 
too  much  interested  in  her  theme  prevented 
me  from  probing  to  the  bottom.     This  was, 
that  for  a  month  at  least  before  his  death  Mr. 
Barrows  had  seemed  to  her  like   a  changed 
man.     A  month — that  was  about  the  interval 
which  had  elapsed  between  his  first  visit  to  the 
mill  and   his  last ;  and  the  evidence  that  he 


r 


\i\ 


\lY 


n 


it 


I       0 


r 


ftt    i 


II 


ff  f 


i  * 


f' 


^ 


iv 


212 


7^/^^  J/^'//  Mystery, 


showed  an  alteration  of  demeanor  in  that  time 
might  have  its  value  and  might  not.  I  re- 
solved to  cultivate  Mrs.  Simpson's  acquaint- 
ance, and  sometime  put  her  a  question  or  two 
that  would  satisfy  me  upon  this  point. 

This  determination  was  all  the  easier  to 
make  in  chat  I  found  the  rooms  I  had  come  to 
see  sufficiently  to  my  liking  to  warrant  me  in 
takinp-  them.  Not  that  I  should  have  hesi- 
tated  to  do  this  had  they  been  as  unattractive 
as  they  were  pleasant.  It  was  not  their  agree- 
ableness  that  won  me,  but  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Barrows'  personal  belongings  had  not  yet 
been  moved,  and  that  for  a  short  time  at  least 
I  should  find  myself  in  possession  of  his 
library,  and  face  to  face  v/ith  the  same  articles 
of  taste  and  study  which  had  surrounded  him 
in  his  lifetime,  and  helped  to  mould,  if  not  to 
make,  the  man.  I  should  thus  obtain  a  knowl- 
edge of  his  character,  and  so'me  day,  who 
knows,  might  flash  upon  his  secret.  For  that 
he  possessed  one,  and  was  by  no  means  the 
plain  and  simple  character  I  had  been  led  to 
believe,  was  apparent  to  me  from  the  first 
glimpse  I  had  of  these  rooms ;  there  being  in 
every  little  object  that  marked  his  taste  a  cer- 


\ 


*v 


A  Gossip. 


213 


tain  individuality  and  purpose  that  betrayed  a 
stern  and  mystic  soul ;  one  that  could  hide  it- 
self, perhaps,  beneath  a  practical  exterior,  but 
which,  in  ways  like  this,  must  speak,  and  speak 
loudly  too,  of  its  own  inward  promptings  and 
tendency. 

The  evening  when  I  first  brought  these  ob- 
jects under  a  close  and  conscientious  scrutiny, 
was  a  memorable  one  to  me.  I  had  moved  in 
early  that  day,  and  with  a  woman's  unreason- 
ing caprice  had  forborne  to  cast  more  than  the 
most  cursory  glance  around,  being  content  t. 
see  that  all  was  as  I  left  it  at  my  first  visit,  and 
that  neither  desk  nor  library  had  been  dis- 
turbed. But  when  supper  was  over,  and  I 
could  set  myself  with  a  free  mind  to  a  contem- 
plation of  my  new  surroundings,  I  found 
that  my  curiosity  could  no  longer  delay  the 
careful  tour  of  inspection  to  which  I  felt  my- 
self invited  by  the  freshness  and  beauty  of  the 
pictures,  and  one  or  two  of  the  statuettes 
which  adorned  the  walls  about  me.  One 
painting  in  especial  attracted  me,  and  made  me 
choose  for  my  first  contemplation  that  side  of 
the  room  on  which  it  hung.  It  was  a  copy  of 
some   French   painting,    and    represented    the 


^  ill 


i      t 


t  ■ 


i , 


i. 


» 


: 


,'*  tl 


IVV 


.V 


$*l 


l:&:    K 


214 


l^Ae  Mill  Mystery. 


temptation  of  a  certain  saint.  A  curious 
choice  of  subject,  you  may  think,  to  adorn  a 
Protestant  clergyman's  wall,  but  if  you  could 
have  seen  it,  and  marked  the  extreme  expres- 
sion of  mortal  struggle  on  the  face  of  the 
tempted  one,  who,  with  eyes  shut,  and  hands 
clutching  till  it  bent  the  cross  of  twigs  stuck  in 
the  crevices  of  the  rocks  beneath  which  he 
writhed,  waited  for  the  victory  over  self  that 
was  just  beginning  to  cast  its  light  upon  his 
brow,  you  would  have  felt  that  it  was  good  to 
hang  before  the  eyes  of  any  one  in  whom  conflict 
of  any  kind  was  waging.  Upon  me  the  effect 
was  instantaneous,  and  so  real  that  I  have 
never  been  able  to  think  of  that  moment  with- 
out a  sense  of  awe  and  rending  of  the  heart. 
Human  passion  assumed  a  new  significance  in 
my  mind,  and  the  will  and  faith  of  a  strong 
man  suffering  from  its  power,  yet  withstanding 
it  to  the  very  last  gasp  by  the  help  of  his  trust 
in  God,  rose  to  such  an  exalted  position  in  my 
mind,  that  I  felt  then,  as  I  feel  now  whenever 
I  remember  this  picture,  that  my  whole  moral 
nature  had  received,  from  Its  contemplation, 
an  impetus  towards  religion  and  self-denial. 
While  I  was  still  absorbed  in  gazing  at  it,  my 


A  Gossip, 


215 


landlady  entered  the  room,  and  seeing  me 
posed  before  the  picture,  quite  sympathizingly 
exclaimed  : 

**  Is  n't  that  a  dreadful  painting.  Miss  Ster- 
ling, *  to  have  in  any  one's  room  ?  I  don't 
wonder  Mr.  Barrows  wanted  to  cover  it  up." 

"  Cover  it  up  ?  "  I  repeated,  turning  hastily 
in  my  surprise. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  going  to  a  drawer  in  his 
desk  and  taking  out  a  small  engraving,  which 
she  brought  me.  **  For  nearly  a  month  before 
his  death  he  had  this  picture  stuck  up  over  the 
other  with  pins.  You  can  see  the  pin-holes 
nov/,  if  you  look  ;  they  went  right  through  the 
canvas.  I  thought  it  a  very  sensible  thing  to 
do,  myself  ;  but  when  I  spoke  of  it  to  him  one 
day,  remarking  that  I  had  always  thought  the 
picture  unfit  for  any  one  to  see,  he  gave  me 
such  a  look  that  I  thought  then  he  must  be 
crazy.  But  no  one  else  saw  any  thing  amiss 
in  him,  and,  as  I  did  not  want  to  lose  a  good 
lodger,  I  let  him  stay  on,  though  my  mind  did 
sometimes  misgive  me." 

The  engraving  she  had  handed  me  was  al- 
most as  suggestive  as  the  painting  it  had  been 
used  to  conceal ;  but  at  this  remarkable  state- 


T 


216 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


I  w 


^'^^, 


ment  from  Mrs.  Simpson's  lips  I  laid  it  quickly 
down. 

''  You  think  he  was  crazy  ?  "  I  asked. 

**  I  think  he  committed  suicide,"  she  af- 
firmed. 

I  turned  to  the  engraving  again,  and  took  it 
up.  What  a  change  had  come  over  me  that  a 
statement  against  which  I  had  once  so  honestly 
rebelled  for  Ada's  sake  should  now  arouse 
something  like  a  sensation  of  joy  in  my 
breast ! 

Mrs.  Simpson,  too  much  interested  in  her 
theme  to  notice  me,  went  confidently  on. 

*'  You  see,  folks  that  live  in  the  same  house 
with  a  person,  learn  to  know  them  as  other 
folks  can't.  Not  that  Mr.  Barrows  ever  talked 
to  me  ;  he  was  a  deal  too  much  absorbed  in 
his  studies  for  that ;  but  he  ate  at  my  table, 
and  went  in  and  out  of  my  front  door,  and  if 
a  woman  cannot  learn  something  about  a  man 
under  those  circumstances,  then  she  is  no 
good,  that  is  all  I  have  got  to  say  about  her." 

I  was  amused  and  slightly  smiled,  but  she 
needed  no  encouragement  to  proceed. 

*'  The  way  he  would  drop  into  a  brown 
study  over  his  meat  and  potatoes  was  a  caution 

-  :  \ 


''^U™. 


A  Gossip. 


217 


I 


n 


to  my  mind.  A  minister  that  don't  eat  is — an 
anomaly,"  she  burst  out.  *'  I  have  boarded 
them  before,  and  I  know  they  like  the  good 
things  of  life  as  well  as  anybody.  But  Mr. 
Barrows,  latterly  at  least,  never  seemed  to  see 
what  was  on  the  table  before  him,  but  ate  be- 
cause his  plate  of  food  was  there,  and  had  to 
be  disposed  of  in  some  way.  One  day,  I 
remember  in  particular,  I  had  baked  dump- 
lings, for  he  used  to  be  very  fond  of  them, 
and  would  eat  two  without  any  urging ;  but 
this  day  he  either  did  not  put  enough  sauce 
on  them,  or  else  his  whole  appetite  had 
changed  ;  for  he  suddenly  looked  down  at  his 
plate  and  shuddered,  almost  as  if  he  were  in  a 
chill,  and,  getting  up,  was  going  away,  when  I 
summoned  up  courage  to  ask  if  the  dumplings 
were  not  as  good  as  usual.  He  turned  at  the 
door — I  can  see  him  now, — and  mechanically 
shaking  his  head,  seemed  to  be  trying  to  utter 
some  apology.  But  he  presently  stopped  in 
that  attempt,  and,  pointing  quickly  at  the  table, 
said,  in  his  accustomed  tones  :  *  You  need  not 
make  me  any  more  desserts,  Mrs.  Simpson,  I 
shall  not  indulge  in  them  in  the  future  ' ;  and 
went  out,  without  saying  whether  he  was  sick 


m 


\ 


J 


2l8 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


or  what.  And  that  was  the  end  of  the  dump- 
lings, and  of  many  a  good  thing  besides." 

"  And  is  that  all — "  I  began ;  but  she 
broke  in  before  the  words  were  half  out  of  my 
mouth. 

"  But  the  strangest  thing  I  ever  see  in  him 
was  this  :  I  have  not  said  much  about  it,  for 
the  people  that  went  to  his  church  are  a  high 
and  mighty  lot,  and  would  n't  bear  a  word  said 
against  his  sanity,  even  by  one  as  had  more 
opportunities  than  they  of  knowing  him.  But 
you  are  a  stranger  in  town,  and  can't  have  no 
such  foolish  touchiness  about  a  person  that  is 
nothing  to  you,  so  I  will  just  tell  you  all  about 
It.  You  see,  when  he  had  visitors — and  off 
and  01  a  good  many  came — I  used  to  seat 
them  in  the  parlor  below,  till  I  was  sure  he  was 
ready  to  receive  them.  This  had  happened 
one  evening,  and  I  had  gone  up  to  his  door  to 
notify  him  that  a  stranger  was  down-stairs, 
when  I  heard  such  a  peculiar  noise  issuing 
from  his  room,  that  I  just  stood  stock-still  on 
the  door-mat  to  listen.  It  was  a  swishing 
sound,  followed  by  a  —  Miss  Sterling,"  she 
suddenly  broke  in,  in  a  half  awe-struck,  half- 
frightened  tone,   "  did  you  ever  hear  any  one 


\ 


A  Gossip. 


219 


whipped?  If  you  have,  you  will  know  why  I 
stood  shuddering  at  that  door  full  two  minutes 
before  I  dared  lift  my  hand  and  knock.  Not 
that  I  could  believe  Mr.  Barrows  was  whipping 
any  body,  but  the  sound  was  so  like  it,  and 
I  was  so  certain  besides  that  I  had  heard  some- 
thing like  a  smothered  cry  follow  it,  that 
nothing  short  of  the  most  imperative  necessity 
would  have  given  me  the  courage  to  call  him ; 
my  imagination  filling  the  room  with  all  sorts 
of  frightful  images ;  images  that  did  not  fade 
away  in  a  hurry,"  she  went  on,  with  a  look  of 
shrinking  terror  about  her  which  I  am  not  sure 
was  not  reflected  in  my  own  face,  "when, 
after  the  longest  waiting  I  ever  had  at  his  door, 
he  slowly  came  across  the  room  and  opened  it, 
showing  me  a  face  as  white  as  a  sheet,  and  a 
hand  that  trembled  so  that  he  dropped  the 
card  I  gave  him  and  had  to  pick  it  up.  Had 
there  been  a  child  there " 

"  But  there  was  n't  !  "  I  interrupted,  shocked 
and  forced  to  defend  him  in  spite  of  myself. 

"  No,  nor  anybody  else.  For  when  he 
went  down-stairs,  I  looked  in  and  there  was  no 
one  there,  and  nothing  uncommon  about  the 
room,    except    that    I    thought   his    bookcase 


V.  . 
■^  II 


J=J 


>r'^ 


220 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


m 


¥x 


i  -tM 


i\ 


looked  as  if  it  had  been  moved.  And  it  had  ; 
for  next  day  when  I  swep  this  room — it  did 
not  need  sweeping,  but  one  can't  wait  for  ever 
to  satisfy  their  curiosity — I  just  looked  behind 
that  case,  and  what  do  you  think  I  found  ?  A 
strap — a  regular  leather  strap  —  just  such 
as " 

"  Good  God  !  "  I  interrupted  ;  "  you  do  not 
think  he  had  been  using  it  when  you  went  to 
the  door  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  she  said.  ''  I  think  he  had  a  fit  of 
something  like  insanity  upon  him,    and   had 

been  swinging  that  strap Well,  I  will  not 

say  against  what,  for  I  do  not  know,  but  might 
it  not  have  been  against  the  fiends  and  goblins 
with  which  crazy  people  sometimes  imagine 
they  are  surrounded  ? " 

'*  Possibly,"  I  acquiesce. V  though  my  tone 
could  not  have  been  one  of  any  strong  con- 
viction. 

**  Insane  persons  sometimes  do  strange 
things,"  she  continued  ;  "  and  that  he  did  not 
show  himself  violent  before  folks  is  no  sign  he 
did  not  let  himself  out  sometimes  when  he  was 
alone.  The  very  fact  that  he  restrained  him- 
self when  he  went  into  the  pulpit  and  visited 

)      .     ..  .A 


A  Gossip. 


221 


Ight 


among  his  friends,  may  have  made  him  wilder 
when  he  got  all  by  himself.  I  am  sure  I  re- 
member having  heard  of  a  case  where  a  man 
lived  for  ten  years  in  a  town  without  a  single 
neighbor  suspecting  him  of  insanity  ;  yet  his 
wife  suffered  constantly  from  his  freaks,  and 
'finally  fell  a  victim  to  his  violence." 

**  But  Mr.  Barrows  was  such  a  brilliant  man," 
I  objected.  **  His  sermons  up  to  the  last  were 
models  of  eloquence." 

"  Oh,  he  could  preach,"  she  assented. 

Seeing  that  she  was  not  to  be  moved  in  her 
convictions,  I  ventured  upon  a  few  questions. 

"  Have  you  ever  thought,"  I  asked,  ''what 
it  was  that  created  such  a  change  in  him  ?  You 
say  you  noticed  it  for  a  month  before  his  death  ; 
could  any  thing  have  happened  to  disturb  him 
a.  that  time  ?  " 

*'  Not  that  I  know  of,"  she  answered,  with 
great  readiness.  '*  I  was  away  for  a  week  in 
August,  and  it  was  when  I  first  came  back  that 
I  observed  how  different  he  was  from  what  he 
had  been  before.  I  thought  at  first  it  was  the 
hot  weather,  but  heat  don't  make  one  restless 
and  unfit  to  sit  quiet  in  one's  chair.  Nor  does 
it  drive  a  man  to  work  as  if  the  very  evil  one 


1   ii 


\ 


'■■I./-^ 


¥ 


& 


'I  I 


i .  ■'/ 


El 


222 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery, 


was  in  him,  keeping  the  light  burning  some- 
times till  two  in  the  morning,  while  he  wrote 
and  walked,  and  walked  and  wrote,  till  I 
thought  my  head  would  burst  with  sympathy 
for  him." 

*'  He  was  finishing  a  book,  was  he  not?  I 
think  I  have  heard  he  left  a  completed  manu- 
script behind  him  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  don't  you  think  it  very  singular 
that  the  last  word  should  have  been  written, 
and  the  whole  parcel  done  up  and  sent  away 
to  his  publisher,  two  days  before  his  death,  if 
he  did  not  know  what  was  going  to  happen  to 
him?" 

"  And  was  it  ?  "  I  inquired. 

**  Yes,  it  was  ;  for  I  was  in  the  room  when 
he  signed  his  name  to  it,  and  heard  his  sigh  of 
relief,  and  saw  him,  too,  when,  a  little  while 
afterwards,  he  took  the  bundle  out  to  the  post- 
ofiice.  I  remember  thinking,  *  Well,  now  for 
some  rest  nights  ! '  little  imagining  what  rest 
was  in  store  for  him,  poor  soul !  " 

**  Did  you  know  that  Mr.  Barrows  was  en- 
gaged ?  "  I  suddenly  asked,  unable  to  restrain 
my  impatience  any  longer. 

"  No,  I  did  not,"  she  rather  sharply  replied, 


\ 


A  Gossip, 


223 


as  if  her  lack  of  knowledge  on  that  subject  had 
been  rather  a  sore  point  with  her.  ''  I  may 
have  suspected  there  was  some  one  he  was 
interested  in,  but  I  am  sure  nobody  ever  im- 
agined her  as  being  the  one.  Poor  girl,  she 
must  have  thought  a  heap  of  him  to  die  in 
that  way." 

She  looked  at  me  as  she  said  this,  anticipat- 
ing, perhaps,  a  return  of  the  confidences  she 
had  made  me.  But  I  could  not  talk  of  Ada  to 
her,  and  after  a  moment  of  silent  waiting  she 
went  eagerly  on. 

"  Perhaps  a  lover's  quarrel  lay  at  the  bottom 
of  the  whole  matter,"  she  suggested.  "■  Miss 
Reynolds  was  a  sweet  girl  and  loved  him  very 
devotedly,  of  course  ;  but  they  might  have  had 
a  tiff  for  all  that,  and  in  a  nature  as  sensitive 
as  his,  the  least  thing  will  sometimes  unhinge 
the  mind." 

But  I  could  only  shake  my  head  at  this  ; 
the  supposition  was  at  once  too  painful  and 
absurd. 

"  Well,  well,"  the  garrulous  woman  went  on, 
in  no  wise  abashed,  "  there  are  some  things 
that  come  easy  and  some  things  that  come 
hard.     Why  Mr.  Barrows  went  the  way  he  did 


■I'i 


■1; » 

\\\ 


■fi' 


v^ 


I'l' 


n 


jt 


h 


i 


224 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


Is  one  of  the  hard  things  to  understand,  but 
that  he  did  go,  and  that  of  his  own  frenzied 
will,  I  am  as  sure  as  that  two  and  two  make 
four,  and  four  from  four  leaves  nothing." 

I  thought  of  all  the  others  who  secretly  or 
openly  expressed  the  same  opinion,  and  felt 
my  heart  grow  lighter.  Then  I  thought  of 
Rhoda  Colwell,  and  then 

**  Just  what  time  was  it,"  I  asked,  ''when  you 
were  away  in  August  ?  Was  it  before  the  sev- 
enteenth, or  after  ?    I  Inquire,  because " 

But  evidently  she  did  not  care  why  I  in- 
quired. 

**  It  was  during  that  week,"  she  broke  In. 
**  I  remember  because  it  was  on  the  sixteenth 
that  Mr.  Pollard  died,  and  I  was  not  here  to 
attend  the  funeral.     I  came  back "  ^ 

But  It  was  no  matter  to  me  now  when  she  came 
back.  She  had  not  been  at  home  the  night 
when  Mr.  Barrows  was  beguiled  into  his  first 
visit  to  the  mill,  and  she  had  mentioned  a 
name  I  had  long  been  eager  to  have  Intro- 
duced Into  the  conversation. 

**  You  knew  Mr.  Pollard  ?"  I  therefore  inter- 
posed without  ceremony.  "  He  was  a  very 
rich  man,  was  he  not  ? " 


a 

"O- 


. 


A  Gossip, 


225 


**  Yes,"  she  assented.  *'  I  suppose  the  chil- 
dren will  have  the  whole  property,  now  that  the 
old  lady  is  gone.  I  hope  Mr.  Harrington  will 
be  satisfied.  He  just  married  that  girl  for  her 
money.  That,  I  am  sure,  you  will  hear  every- 
body say." 

**  Yet  she  is  exceedingly  pretty,"  I  suggested. 

"  Oh,  yes,  too  pretty  ;  she  makes  one  think 
of  a  wax  doll.  But  these  English  lords  don't 
care  for  beauty  without  there  is  a  deal  of  hard 
cash  to  back  it,  and  if  Agnes  Pollard  had  been 
as  poor  as — what  other  beauty  have  we  in 
town?" 

**  There  is  a  girl  called  Rhoda  Colwell,"  I 
ventured. 

"■  Rhoda  Colwell !  Do  you  call  her  a  beauty  ? 
I  I  ow  some  folks  think  she  is — well,  then,  let 
us  say  as  Rhoda  Colwell,  he  would  have  made 
her  any  proposal  sooner  than  that  of  his  hand." 

"And  is  Mr.  Harrington  a  lord?"  I  asked, 
feeling  that  I  was  lighting  upon  some  very 
strange  truths. 

"  He  is  the  next  heir  to  one.  A  nephew,  I 
believe,  or  else  a  cousin.  I  cannot  keep  track 
of  all  those  fine  distinctions  in  people  I  never 


saw. 


M 


4  /^  •  ''  • 


'-ii. 


I  -  ff 


^^ 


III 


226 


TAe  Mill  Mystery. 


''They  were  married  privately  and  right 
after  Mr.  Pollard's  death,  I  have  heard."    , 

''Yes,  and  for  no  other  earthly  reason  that 
one  ever  heard  of  than  to  have  it  settled  and 
done  ;  for  Mr.  Harrington  did  not  take  away 
his  wife  from  the  country  ;  nor  does  he  intend 
to  as  far  as  I  can  learn.  Everybody  thought 
it  a  very  strange  proceeding,  and  none  too  re- 
spectful to  Mr.  Pollard's  memory  either." 

I  thought  of  all  I  had  heard  and  seen  in 
that  house,  and  wondered. 

"  Mr.  Pollard  was  such  a  nice  man,  too," 
she  pursued,  in  a  musing  tone.  "  Not  a  com- 
manding person,  like  his  wife,  but  so  good  and 
kind  and  attentive  to  poor  folks  like  me.  I 
never  liked  a  man  more  than  I  did  Mr.  Pollard, 
and  I  have  always  tLv/ught  that  if  he  had  had 
a  different  kind  of  mother  for  his  children — 
but  what  is  the  use  of  criticising  the  poor 
woman  now.  She  is  dead  and  so  is  he,  and 
the  children  will  do  very  well  now  with  all  that 
money  to  back  them  in  any  caprice  they  may 
have  " 

"  You  seem  to  know  them  well,"  I  remarked, 
fearful  she  would  observe  the  emotion  I  could 
not  quite  keep  out  of  my  face. 


' 


tf 


■ 


>» 


' 


« 


■ 


A  Gossip, 


227 


"  No,"  she  returned,  with  an  assumption  of 
grimness,  which  was  evidently  meant  for  sar- 
casm, ''not  well.  Every  one  knows  the  Pol- 
lards, but  I  never  heard  any  one  say  they  knew 
them  well. 

*' Did  n't  Mr.  Barrows?"  I  tremblingly  in- 
quired, anxious  for  her  reply,  yet  fearful  of 
connecting  those  two  names. 

''Not  that  I  ever  saw,"  slie  returned,  show- 
ing no  special  interest  in  the  question,  or  in 
the  fact  that  it  was  seemingly  of  some  import- 
ance to  me. 

"  Did  n't  they  use  to  come  here  to  see  him  ?  " 
I  proceeded,  emboldened  by  her  evident  lack 
of  perspicuity.  "None  of  them?"  I  added, 
seeing  her  about  to  shake  her  head. 

"  Oh,  Dwight  or  Guy  would  come  here  if 
they  had  any  business  with  him,"  she  allowed. 
"  But  that  is  n't  intimacy;  the  Pollards  are  in- 
timate with  nobody." 

She  seemed  to  be  rather  proud  of  it,  and  as 
I  did  not  see  my  way  just  then  to  acquire  any  ^ 
further  information,  I  sank  with  a  weary  air 
into  a  chair,  turning  the  conversation  as  I  did 
so  upon  other  and  totally  irrelevant  topics. 
But  no  topic  was  of  much  interest  to  her,  that 


'  ■  '-i 


i  < 


tiid 


III 


:  W 


!' 


i' 


228 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery. 


did  not  in  some  way  involve  Mr.  Barrows  ;  and 
after  a  few  minutes  of  desultory  chat,  she 
pleaded  the  excuse  of  business  and  hurriedly 
left  the  room. 


nd 
he 
lly 


XVI. 


THE   GREEN    ENVELOPE. 

Sir,  you  shall  understand  what  hath  befall'n, 
Which,  as  I  think,  yoa  know  not.     Here  is  a  letter. 

— Othello. 

HER  departure  was  a  relief  to  me.  First, 
because  I  had  heard  so  much,  I 
wanted  an  opportunity  of  digesting  it ;  and, 
secondly,  because  of  my  interest  in  the  engrav- 
ing she  had  shown  me,  and  the  impatience  I 
felt  to  study  it  more  closely.  I  took  it  up  the 
moment  she  closed  the  door. 

It  was  the  picture  of  a  martyr,  and  had  evi- 
dently been  cut  from  some  good-sized  book. 
It  represented  a  man  clothed  in  a  long  white 
garment,  standing  with  his  back  to  the  stake, 
and  his  hand  held  out  to  the  flames,  which 
were  slowly  consuming  it.  As  a  work  of  art,  it 
was  ordinary ;  as  the  illustration  of  some 
mighty  fact,  it  was  full  of  suggestion.  I  gazed 
at  it  for  a  long  time,  and  then  turned' to  the 

229 


•^, 


;s 


230 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


bookcase.  Was  the  book  from  which  it  had 
been  taken  there  ?  I  eagerly  hoped  so.  For, 
ignorant  as  I  may  seem  to  you,  I  did  not  know 
the  picture  or  the  incident  it  represented  ;  and  I 
was  anxious  to  know  both.  For  Mr.  Barrows 
was  not  the  man  to  disfigure  a  work  of  art  by 
covering  it  with  a  coarse  print  like  this  unless 
he  had  a  motive  ;  and  how  could  even  a  sus- 
picion of  that  motive  be  mine,  without  a  full 
knowledge  of  just  what  this  picture  implied  ? 

But  though  I  looked  from  end  to  end  of  the 
various  shelves  before  me,  I  did  not  succeed  in 
finding  the  volume  from  which  this  engraving 
had  been  taken.  Large  books  were  there  in 
plenty,  but  none  of  the  exact  size  of  the  print 
I  held  in  my  hand.  I  own  I  was  disappointed, 
and  turned  away  from  the  bookcase  at  last 
with  a  feeling  of  having  been  baffled  on  the 
verge  of  some  very  interesting  discovery. 

The  theory  advanced  with  so  much  assurance 
by  Mrs.  Simpson  had  not  met  with  much  cre- 
dence on  my  part.  I  believed  her  facts,  but  not 
the  conclusions  she  drew  from  them.  Nothing 
she  had  related  to  me  convinced  me  that  Mr. 
Barrows  was  in  any  way  insane  ;  nor  could  1 
imagine  for  a  moment  that  he  could  be    so 


\ 


The  Green  Envelope, 


231 


without  the  knowledge  of  Ada,  if  not  of  his 
associates  and  friends. 

At  the  same  time  I  was  becoming  more  and 
more  assured  in  my  own  mind  that  his  death 
was  the  result  of  his  own  act,  and,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  difficulty  of  imagining  a  reason 
for  it,  could  have  retired  to  rest  that  night  with 
a  feeling  of  real  security  in  the  justness  of  a 
conclusion  that  so  exonerated  the  man  I 
loved.  As  it  was,  that  secret  doubt  still  re- 
mained like  a  cloud  over  my  hopes,  a  doubt 
which  I  had  promised  myself  should  be  entirely 
removed  before  I  allowed  my  partiality  for 
Mr.  Pollard  to  take  upon  itself  the  character 
of  partisanship.  I  therefore  continued  my  ex- 
plorations through  the  room. 

Mr.  Barrows'  desk  presented  to  me  the 
greatest  attraction  of  any  thing  there  ;  one 
that  was  entirely  of  the  imagination,  of  course, 
since  nothing  could  have  induced  me  to  open 
it,  notwithstanding  every  key  stood  in  its  lock, 
and  one  of  the  drawers  was  pulled  a  little  way 
out.  Only  the  law  had  a  right  to  violate  his 
papers  ;  and  hard  as  it  was  to  deny  myself  a 
search  into  what  was  possibly  the  truest 
exponent  of  his  character,  I  resolutely  did  so, 


HI 


^l 


232 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


.1 

•I 


I 


\>.i 


t 


E 


1 


consoling  myself  with  the  thought  that  if  any 
open  explanation  of  his  secret  had  been  in 
these  drawers,  it  would  have  been  produced  at 
the  inquest. 

As  for  his  books,  I  felt  no  such  scruples. 
But  then,  what  could  his  books  tell  me  ? 
Nothing,  save  that  he  was  a  wide  student  and 
loved  the  delicate  and  imaginative  in  litera- 
ture. Besides,  I  had  glanced  at  many  of  the 
volumes,  in  my  search  after  the  one  which  had 
held  the  engraving.  Yet  I  did  pause  a  minute 
and  run  my  eye  along  the  shelves,  vaguely 
conscious,  perhaps,  that  often  in  the  most  out- 
of-the-way  corners  lurks  the  secret  object  for 
which  we  are  so  carefully  seeking.  But  I  saw 
nothing  to  detain  me,  and  after  one  brief 
glance  at  a  strong  and  spirited  statuette  that 
adorned  the  top  shelf,  I  hurried  on  to  a  small 
table  upon  which  I  thought  I  saw  a  photo- 
graphic album. 

I  was  not  mistaken  ;  and  it  was  with  consid- 
erable interest  I  took  it  up  and  began  to  run 
over  its  pages  in  search  for  that  picture  of 
Ada  which  I  felt  ought  to  be  there.  And 
which  was  there ;  but  which  I  scarcely  looked 
at  twice,  so  much  was  my  attention  attracted 


The  Green  Envelope. 


233 


by  an  envelope  that  fell  out  from  between  the 
leaves  as  I  turned  them  eagerly  over.  That 
envelope,  with  its  simple  direction,  *'  Miss  Ada 

Reynolds,    Monroe  Street,    S ,"  made  an 

era  in  my  history.  For  I  no  sooner  perceived 
it  than  I  felt  confident  of  having  seen  it  or  its 
like  before ;  and  presently,  with  almost  the 
force  of  an  electric  shock,  I  recollected  the  let- 
ter which  I  had  brought  Ada  the  afternoon  of 
the  day  she  died,  and  which,  as  my  startled 
conscience  now  told  me,  had  not  only  never 
been  given  her,  but  had  not  been  so  much  as 
seen  by  me  since,  though  all  her  belongings 
had  passed  into  my  hands,  and  the  table  where 
I  had  flung  it  had  been  emptied  of  its  contents 
more  than  once.  That  letter  and  this  empty 
envelope  were,  in  style,  handwriting,  and  dixx^Or 
tion y  fac-szmzles.  It  had,  therefore,  come  from 
Mr.  Barrows ;  a  most  significant  fact,  and  one 
which  I  had  no  sooner  realized  than  I  was 
seized  by  the  most  intense  excitement,  and 
might  have  doi  e  some  wild  and  foolish  thing, 
had  not  the  lateness  of  the  hour  restrained  me, 
and  kept  my  passionate  hopes  and  fears  within 
their  proper  bounds.  As  it  was,  I  found 
myself  obliged  to  take  several  turns  up  and 


i 


234 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


V  •■ 


i 

1 


:  t 


\  21 


5 


down  the  room,  and  even  to  open  the  window 
for  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  before  I  could  face 
the  subject  with  any  calmness,  or  ask  myself 
what  had  become  of  this  letter,  with  any  hope 
of  receiving  a  rational  reply. 

That  in  the  startling  and  tragic  events  of 
that  day  it  had  been  overlooked  and  forgotten, 
I  did  not  wonder.  But  that  it  should  have 
escaped  my  notice  afterwards,  or  if  mine,  that 
of  the  landlady  who  took  charge  of  the  room 
in  my  absence,  was  what  I  could  not  under- 
stand. As  far  as  I  could  remember,  I  left  the 
letter  lying  in  plain  view  on  the  table.  Why, 
then,  had  not  some  one  seen  and  produced  it  ? 
Could  it  be  that  some  one  more  interested 
than  I  knew  had  stolen  it  ?  Or  was  the  land- 
lady of  my  former  home  alone  to  blame  for  its 
being  lost  or  mislaid  ? 

Had  it  been  daylight  I  should  have  at  once 
gone  down  to  my  former  boarding-place  to  in- 
quire ;  but  as  it  was  ten  o'clock  at  night,  I 
could  only  satisfy  my  impatience  by  going 
carefully  over  the  incidents  of  that  memorable 
day,  in  the  hope  of  rousing  some  memory 
which  would  lead  to  an  elucidation  of  this  new 
mystery. 


I 


•y 

w 


'I he  Green  Envelope, 


235 


First,  then,  I  distinctly  recollected  receiving 
the  letter  from  the  postman.  I  had  met  him 
at  the  foot  of  the  steps  as  I  came  home  from 
my  unsuccessful  search  for  employment,  and 
he  had  handed  me  the  letter,  simply  saying  : 
**  For  Miss  Reynolds."  I  scarcely  looked  at 
it,  certainly  gave  it  no  thought,  for  we  had 
been  together  but  a  week,  and  I  had  as  yet 
taken  no  interest  in  her  concerns.  So  mechani- 
cal, indeed,  had  been  my  whole  action  in  the 
matter,  that  I  doubt  if  the  sight  of  Mr.  Bar- 
rows' writing  alone,  even  though  it  had  been 
used  in  tianscribing  her  name,  would  have 
served  to  recall  the  incident  to  my  mind.  But 
the  shade  of  the  envelope — it  was  of  a  peculiar 
greenish  tint — gave  that  unconscious  spur  to 
the  memory  which  was  needed  to  bring  back 
the  very  look  of  the  writing  which  had  been 
on  the  letter  I  had  so  carelessly  handled  ;  and 
I  found,  as  others  have  found  before  me,  that 
there  is  no  real  forgetfulness  in  this  world  ; 
that  the  most  superficial  glance  may  serve  to 
imprint  images  upon  the  mind,  which  only 
await  time  and  occasion  to  reappear  before  us 
with  startling  distinctness. 

My  entrance  into  my  own  room,  my  finding 


i  I 


li 


111 


I 


236 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery, 


It  empty,  and  the  consequent  flinging  of  the 
letter  down  on  the  table,  all  came  back  to  me 
with  the  utmost  clearness  ;  even  the  fact  that 
the  letter  fell  face  downwards  and  that  I  did 
not  stop  to  turn  It  over.  But  beyond  that  all 
was  blank  to  me  up  to  the  moment  when  I 
found  myself  confronting  Ada  standing  with 
her  hand  on  her  heart  in  that  sudden  spasm  of 
pain  which  had  been  the  too  sure  precursor  of 
her  rapidly  approaching  doom. 

But  wait !  Where  was  I  standing  when  I. 
first  became  conscious  of  her  presence  in  the 
room  ?  Why,  in  the  window,  of  course.  I 
remembered  now  just  how  4iot  the  afternoon 
sun  looked  to  me  as  I  stared  at  the  white  walls 
of  the  cottage  over  tLe  way.  And  she — where 
was  she  ? — between  me  and  the  table  ?  Yes  ! 
She  had,  therefore,  passed  by  the  letter,  and 
might  have  picked  it  up,  might  even  have 
opened  it,  and  read  it  before  the  spell  of  my 
revery  was  broken,  and  I  turned  to  find  her 
standing  there  before  my  eyes.  Her  pallor, 
the  evident  distress  under  which  she  was  labor- 
ing, even  the  sudden  pain  which  had  attacked 
her  heart,  might  thus  be  accounted  for,  and 
what  I  had  always  supposed  to  be  a  purely 

'■     ^  •    . .         ■■■  ■  ■  .\ 


M 


The  Green  Envelope, 


237 


physical  attack  prove  to  be  the  result  of  a 
mental  and  moral  shock.  But,  no.  Had  she 
opened  and  read  the  letter  it  would  have  been 
found  there  ;  or  if  not  there,  at  least  upon  her 
person  after  death.  Besides,  her  whole  con- 
duct between  the  moment  I  faced  her  and  that 
of  the  alarm  in  the  street  below  precluded  the 
idea  that  any  thing  of  importance  to  her  and 
her  love  had  occurred  to  break  her  faith  in  the 
future  and  the  man  to  whose  care  she  was 
pledged.  Could  I  not  remember  the  happy 
smile  which  accompanied  her  offer  of  assist- 
ance and  home  to  me  ?  And  was  there  any 
thing  but  hope  and  trust  in  the  tone  with 
which  she  had  designated  her  lover  as  being 
the  best  and  noblest  man  in  town  ?  No  ;  if 
she  had  read  his  communication  and  afterwards 
disposed  of  it  in  some  way  I  did  not  observe, 
then  it  was  not  of  the  nature  I  suspected  ;  but 
an  ordinary  letter,  similar  in  character  to  others 
she  had  received,  foretelling  nothing,  and  only 
valuable  in  the  elucidation  of  the  mystery  be- 
fore me  from  the  fact  of  its  offering  proof  pre- 
sumptive that  he  did  not  anticipate  death,  or 
at  all  events  did  not  meditate  it. 

An  important  enough  fact  to  establish,  cer- 


238 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


n 


^, 


tainly ;  but  it  was  not  the  fact  in  which  I  had 
come  to  believe,  and  so  I  found  it  difficult  to 
give  it  a  place  in  my  mind,  or  even  to  enter- 
tain the  possibility  of  Ada's  having  seen  the 
letter  at  all.  I  preferred  rather  to  indulge  in 
all  sorts  of  wild  conjectures,  having  the  land- 
lady, the  servant,  even  Dr.  Farnham,  at  their 
base  ;  and  it  was  not  till  I  was  visited  by  some 
mad  thought  of  Rhoda  Colwell's  possible  con- 
nivance in  the  disappearance  of  this  important 
bit  of  evidence,  that  I  realized  the  enormity  of 
my  selfish  folly,  and  endeavored  to  put  an  end 
to  its  further  indulgence  by  preparing  stoically 
for  bed. 

But  sleep,  which  would  have  been  so  wel- 
come, did  not  come  ;  and  after  a  long  and 
weary  night,  J  arose  in  any  thing  but  a  refreshed 
state,  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  what  might 
possibly  prove  to  be  a  most  important  day. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  undoubtedly 
to  visit  my  old  home  and  interview  its  land- 
lady. If  nothing  came  of  that,  to  hunt  up 
the  nurse,  Mrs.  Gannon,  whom,  as  you  will 
remember,  I  had  left  in  charge  of  my  poor 
Ada's  remains  when  sudden  duty  in  the  shape 
of  Dr.  Farnham  carried  me  away  to  the  bed- 


The  Green  Envelope, 


239 


up 

will 

>oor 

I  ape 

bed- 


side of  Mrs.  Pollard  ;  and  if  this  also  came  to 
naught,  to  burst  the  bonds  of  secrecy  which  I 
had  maintained,  and  by  taking  this  same  Dr. 
Farnham  into  my  confidence  obtain  at  least  an 
adviser  who  would  relieve  me,  if  only  partially, 
from  the  weight  of  responsibility,  which  I  now 
felt  to  be  pressing  rather  too  heavily  upon  my 
strength. 

But  though  I  carried  out  this  programme  as 
far  as  seeking  for  and  procuring  an  interview 
with  Mrs.  Gannon  at  her  place  of  nursing,  I 
did  not  succeed  in  obtaining  the  least  clew  to 
the  fate  of  this  mysteriously  lost  letter.  Neither 
of  the  women  mentioned  had  seen  it,  nor  was 
it  really  believed  by  them  to  have  been  on  the 
table  when  they  arranged  the  room  after  my 
Ada's  peaceful  death.  Yet  even  to  this  they 
L-ould  not  swear,  nor  would  the  landlady  admit 
but  that  it  might  still  have  been  lying  there 
when  they  came  to  carry  Ada  away,  though 
she  would  say  that  it  could  not  have  been  any- 
where in  view  the  next  day,  for  she  had  thor- 
oughly cleaned  and  tidied  up  the  room  herself  J 
and  as  in  doing  this  she  had  been  obliged  to 
shift  every  article  off  the  table  on  to  the  bed 
and  back  again,  she  must  not  only  have  seen. 


.'  11 


240 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


! 


I 


but  handled  the  letter  twice  ;  and  this  she  was 
morally  certain  she  did  not  do. 

I  was  therefore  in  as  great  perplexity  as 
ever,  and  was  seriously  meditating  a  visit  to 
Dr.  Farnham,  when  I  bethought  me  of  making 
one  final  experiment  before  resorting  to  this 
last  and  not  altogether  welcome  alterrc  tive. 

This  was  to  examine  every  thing  which  had 
been  on  the  table,  in  the  hope  of  discovering 
in  some  out-of-the-way  receptacle  the  missing 
letter  for  which  I  had  such  need.  To  be  sure 
it  was  an  effort  that  promised  little,  there  hav- 
ing been  but  few  articles  on  the  table  capable 
of  concealing  even  such  a  small  object  as  this 
I  was  in  search  of  ;  but  when  one  is  at  their 
wits'  ends,  they  do  not  stop  to  discuss  proba- 
bilities, or  even  to  weigh  in  too  nice  a  scale 
the  prospect  of  success. 

Recalling,  therefore,  just  what  had  been  on 
the  table,  I  went  to  the  trunk  in  which  these 
articles  were  packed,  and  laid  them  out  one  by 
one  on  the  floor.  They  were  as  follows  :  A 
work-basket  of  Ada's  ;  a  box  of  writing-pa- 
per ;  a  copy  of  Harper  s  Magazine  ;  an  atlas  ; 
and  two  volumes  of  poetry,  one  belonging  to 
Ada  and  one  to  me. 


I 


The  Green  Envelope, 


241 


A  single  glance  into  the  work-basket  was 
sufficient,  also  into  the  box  of  stationery.  But 
the  atlas  was  well  shaken,  and  the  magazine 
carefully  looked  through,  before  I  decided  it 
was  not  in  them.  As  for  the  two  books  of 
poetry,  I  disdained  them  so  completely,  I  was 
about  to  toss  them  back  unopened,  when  there 
came  upon  me  a  disposition  to  be  thorough, 
and  I  looked  at  them  both,  only  to  find  snugly 
ensconced  in  my  own  little  copy  of  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing the  long-sought  and  despaired-of  letter, 
with  its  tell-tale  green  envelope  unbroken,  and 
its  contents,  in  so  far  as  I  could  see,  unvio- 
lated  and  undisturbed.  , 


11 


^1 
$1 


on 

ese 

by 

A 

pa- 

as ; 

I-  to 


i  11 


%m 


ll 


'W 


—  XVII. 

DAVID    BARROWS. 

I  have  li /ed  long  enough. — Macbeth. 

BEFORE  I  proceeded  to  open  this  letter, 
I  reasoned  some  time  with  myself.  The 
will  by  which  I  had  come  into  possession  of 
Ada's  effects  was,  as  I  knew,  informal  and  pos- 
sibly illegal.  But  it  was  the  expression  of  her 
wishes,  and  there  had  been  no  one  to  dis- 
pute them  or  question  my  right  to  the  inheri- 
tance she  had  so  innocently  bequeathed  me. 
At  the  same  time  I  felt  a  hesitation  about 
opening  this  letter,  as  I  had  about  using  her 
money ;  and  it  was  not  till  I  remembered  the 
trust  she  had  reposed  in  me,  and  the  promise  I 
had  given  her  to  support  Mr.  Barrows'  good 
name  before  the  world,  that  I  summoned  up 
sufficient  determination  to  break  its  seal.  My 
duty  once  clear  to  me,  however,  I  no  longer 
hesitated.  This  is  the  result : 
^  242 


\ 


1 


David  Barrows, 


243 


1 


September  23d. — Evening, 

My  Beloved  Ada  : — Could  I  by  any  means  mitigate  the 
blow  which  I  am  forced  to  deal  you,  believe  me  it  should 
be  done.  But  no  words  can  prepare  you  for  the  terrible 
fact  I  am  about  to  reveal,  and  I  think  from  what  I  know 
of  you,  and  of  your  delicate  but  strong  soul,  that  in  a 
matter  of  life  and  death  like  this  the  most  direct  language 
is  what  you  would  choose  me  to  employ. 

Know  then,  dearest  of  all  women'  that  a  duty  I  dare  not 
fly  from  condemns  me  to  death  ;  that  the  love  we  have 
cherished,  the  hopes  in  which  we  have  indulged,  can  have 
no  fulfilment  in  this  world,  but  must  be  yielded  as  a  sacri- 
fice to  the  inexorable  claim  of  conscience  and  that  ideal 
of  right  which  has  been  mine  since  I  took  upon  myself 
the  lofty  vocation  of  a  Christian  minister. 

You,  my  people,  my  own  self  even,  have  thought  me  an 
honest  man.  God  knows  I  meant  to  be,  even  to  the  point 
of  requiring  nothing  from  others  I  was  not  willing  to  give 
myself.  But  our  best  friends  do  not  know  us  ;  we  do  not 
know  ourselves.  When  the  hour  of  trial  came,  and  a 
sudden  call  was  made  upon  my  faith  and  honor,  I  failed 
to  sustain  myself,  failed  ignominiously,  showing  myself  to 
be  no  stronger  than  the  weakest  of  my  flock — ay,  than  the 
child  that  flies  before  a  shadow  because  it  is  black,  and  he 
does  not  or  will  not  see  that  it  is  his  father's  form  that 
casts  it. 

Such  lapses  on  the  part  of  men  professing  to  lead  others 
demand  heavy  penalties.  I  feared  to  lose  my  life,  there- 
fore my  life  must  go.  Nothing  short  of  this  would  rein- 
state me  in  my  own  eyes,  or  give  to  my  repentance  that 
stern  and  absolute  quality  which  the  nature  of  my  sin 
imperatively  demands. 


fli 


244 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


('. 


That  I  must  involve  you  in  my  sorrow  and  destruction 
is  the  bitterest  drop  in  my  cup.  But  dainty  and  flower- 
like as  you  are,  you  have  a  great  nature,  and  would  not 
hold  me  back  from  an  act  necessary  to  the  welfare  and 
honor  of  my  eternal  soul.  I  see  you  rather  urging  me 
on,  giving  me  your  last  kiss,  and  smiling  upon  me  with 
your  own  inspiring  smile.  So  sure  am  I  of  this,  that 
I  can  bear  not  to  see  you  again  ;  bear  to  walk  for  the  last 
time  by  your  house,  leaving  only  my  blessing  in  the  air. 
For  it  is  a  part  of  my  doom  that  I  may  not  see  you  ;  since, 
were  I  to  find  myself  in  your  presence,  I  could  scarcely 
forbear  telling  you  whither  I  was  going,  and  that  no  man 
must  know  till  all  has  been  accomplished. 

I  go,  then,  without  other  farewell  than  these  poor  words 
can  give  you.  Be  strong,  and  bear  my  loss  as  many  a 
noble  woman  before  you  has  borne  the  wreck  of  all  her 
hopes.  When  I  am  found— -as  some  day  I  shall  be — tell 
my  people  I  died  in  the  Christian  faith,  and  for  the 
simple  reason  that  my  honor  as  a  man  and  a  minister 
demanded  it.  If  they  love  me  they  will  take  my  word  for 
it ;  but  if  questions  should  arise,  and  a  fuller  knowledge 
of  my  fate  and  the  reasons  which  led  me  to  such  an 
act  should  in  your  judgment  seem  to  be  required,  then 
go  to  my  desk,  and,  in  a  secret  drawer  let  into  the  back, 
you  will  find  a  detailed  confession  which  will  answer 
every  inquiry  and  set  straight  any  false  or  unworthy  sus- 
picions that  may  arise.  ' 

But  heed  these  words  and  mark  them  well :  Till  such  a 
need  should  arise,  the  manuscript  is  to  be  kept  inviolate 
ei^en  from  you  ;  and  no  matter  what  the  seeming  need,  or 
by  what  love  or  anxiety  you  may  be  driven,  touch  not 
that  desk  nor  drawer  till  ten  days  have  elapsed,  or  I  shall 


M 


David  Bai^rows, 


245 


think  you  love  my  body  more  than  me,  and  the  enjoyment 

of  temporal  comfort  to  the  eternal  weight  of  glory  which 

is  laid  up  for  those  who  hold  out  steadfast  to  the  end. 

And  now,  my  dear,  my  dear,  with  all  tl  e  affection  of 

my  poor,  weak,  erring  heart,  I  hold  one  arms  of  love 

towards   you.     Farewell    for  a  short   space.     When    we 

meet  again  may  it  be  on   equal  terms  once  more,  the 

heavy  sin  blotted  out,  the  grievous  wrong  expiated. 

Till  then,  God  bless  you. 

David. 

Do  not  wonder  at  my  revealing  nothing  of  this  in  our 
late  interviews.  You  were  so  happy,  I  dared  no  drop  a 
shadow  one  day  sooner  than  was  necessary  into  your 
young  life.  Besides,  my  struggle  was  dark  and  secret, 
and  could  brook  no  eye  upon  it  save  that  of  the  eternal 
God. 


PI 


all 


I  • 


l 


)i 


iV 


I 


m 


■^ 


XVIII. 

A  LAST  REQUEST. 

'T  is  she 
That  tempers  him  to  this  extremity. 

— Richard  III, 

THE  night  had  fallen.  I  was  in  a  strange 
and  awe-struck  mood.  The  manuscript, 
which  after  some  difficulty  I  had  succeeded  in 
finding,  lay  before  me  unopened.  A  feeling 
as  of  an  invisible  presence  was  in  the  air.  I 
hesitated  to  turn  the  page,  written,  as  I  already 
felt,  with  the  life-blood  of  the  man  in  whose 
mysterious  doom  the  happiness  of  my  own  life 
had  become  entangled. 

Waiting  for  courage,  I  glanced  mechani- 
cally about  the  room.  How  strangely  I  had 
been  led  in  this  affair !  How  from  the  first  I 
seemed  to  have  been  picked  out  and  appointed 
for  the  solving  of  this  mystery,  till  now  I  sat 
in  the  very  room,  at  the  very  desk,  in  front  of 
the  very  words,  of  its  victim.      I  thought  of 

246  • 


11 


' 


A  Last  Request, 


247 


Dwight  Pollard  struggling  with  his  fate,  and 
unconscious  that  in  a  few  minutes  the  secret 
of  Mr.  Barrows'  death  would  be  known  ;  of 
Rhoda  Colwell,  confident  of  her  revenge  and 
blind  to  the  fact  that  I  held  in  my  hand  what 
might  possibly  blunt  her  sharpest  weapon,  and 
make  her  most  vindictive  effort  useless.  Then 
each  and  every  consideration  of  a  purely  per- 
sonal nature  vanished,  and  I  thought  only  of 
the  grand  and  tortured  soul  of  him  upon  whose 
solemn  and  awesome  history  I  was  about  to 
enter.  Was  it,  as  his  letter  seemed  to  imply, 
a  martyr's  story  ?  I  looked  at  the  engraving 
of  Cranmer,  which  had  been  a  puzzle  to  me  a 
few  days  before,  and  understanding  it  now, 
gathered  fortitude  by  what  it  seemed  to  sug- 
gest, and  hastily  unrolled  the  manuscript. 
This  is  what  I  read  : 


i  5 


if 


**  He  that  would  save  his  life  shall  lose  it,'* 

In  order  that  the  following  tale  of  sin  and  its 
expiation  may  be  understood,  I  must  give  a  few 
words  to  the  motives  and  hopes  under  which  I 
entered  the  ministry. 

I  am  a  believer  in  the  sacred  character  of  my 
profession,   and   the    absolute   and   unqualified 


248 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


k  r^ 


devotion  of  those  embracing  it  to  the  aims  and 
purposes  of  the  Christian  religion.  Though 
converted,  as  it  is  called,  in  my  sixteenth  year, 
I  cannot  remember  the  time  my  pulse  did  not 
beat  with  appreciation  for  those  noble  souls  who 
had  sacrificed  every  joy  and  comfort  of  this 
temporal  life  for  the  sake  of  their  faith  and  the 
glory  of  God.  I  delighted  in  Fox's  '*  Book  of 
Martyrs,"  and  while  I  shuddered  over  its  pages 
in  a  horror  I  did  not  wholly  understand,  I  read 
them  again  and  again,  till  there  was  not  a  saint 
whose  life  I  did  not  know  by  heart,  with  just 
the  death  he  died  and  the  pangs  he  experi- 
enced. Such  a  mania  did  this  become  with  me 
at  one  time,  that  I  grew  visibly  ill,  and  had  to 
have  the  book  taken  away  from  me  and  more 
cheerful  reading  substituted  in  its  stead. 

Feeling  thus  strongly  in  childhood,  when 
half,  if  not  all,  my  interest  sprang  from  the  fas- 
cination which  horrors  have  upon  the  impressi- 
ble mind,  what  were  my  emotions  and  longings 
when  the  real  meaning  of  the  Christian  life  was 
revealed  to  me,  and  I  saw  in  this  steadfastness 
of  the  spirit  unto  death  the  triumph  of  the 
immortal  soul  over  the  weaknesses  of  the  flesh 
and  the  terrors  of  a  purely  transitory  suffering ! 


" 


. 


sh 


A  Last  Request, 


249 


That  the  days  for  such  display  o^  firmness  in 
the  fiery  furnace  were  over  was  almost  a  matter 
of  regret  to  me  in  the  first  flush  of  my  enthusi- 
asm for  the  cause  I  had  espoused.  I  wished  so 
profoundly  to  show  my  love,  and  found  all 
modern  ways  so  tame  in  comparison  to  those 
which  demanded  the  yielding  up  of  one's  very 
blood  and  life.  Poor  fool !  did  I  never  think 
that  those  who  are  the  bravest  in  imagination 
fail  often  the  most  lamentably  when  brought 
face  to  face  with  the  doom  they  have  invoked. 

I  have  never  been  a  robust  man,  and  conse- 
quently have  never  entered  much  into  those 
sports  and  exercises  incident  to  youth  and 
early  manhood  that  show  a  man  of  what  stuff 
he  is  made.     I  have  lived  in  my  books  till  I 

came  to  S ,  since  which  I  have  tried  to  live 

in  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  my  fellow-beings. 

The  great  rule  of  Christian  living  has  seemed 
to  me  imperative.  Love  your  neighbor  as 
yourself,  or,  as  I  have  always  interpreted  it, 
more  than  yourself  For  a  man,  then,  to  sacri- 
fice that  neighbor  to  save  himself  from  physical 
or  mental  distress,  has  always  seemed  to  me 
not  only  the  height  of  cowardice,  but  a  direct 
denial  of  those  truths  upon  which  are  founded 


r- 


1,1 


( I 


1  ( 


\ 


i 
i 


; 


"'  . 

< 


250 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery. 


the  Christian's  ultimate  hope.  As  a  man  my- 
self, I  despise  with  my  whole  heart  such  weak- 
lings ;  as  a  Christian  minister  I  denounce  them. 
Nothing  can  excuse  a  soul  for  wavering  in  its 
duty  because  that  duty  is  hard.  It  is  the  hard 
things  we  should  take  delight  in  facing  ;  other- 
wise we  are  babes  and  not  men,  and  our  iaith  a 
matter  of  expediency,  and  not  that  stern  and 
immovable  belief  in  God  and  His  purposes 
which  can  alone  please  Deity  and  bring  us  into 
that  immediate  communion  with  His  spirit 
which  it  should  be  the  end  and  aim  of  every 
human  soul  to  enjoy. 

Such  are  my  principles.  Let  us  see  how  I 
have  illustrated  them  in  the  events  of  the  last 
six  weeks. 

On  the  sixteenth  of  August,  five  weeks  ago 
to-day,  I  was  called  to  the  bedside  of  Samuel 
Pollard.  He  had  been  long  sinking  with  an 
insurable  disease,  and  now  the  end  was  at  hand 
and  my  Christian  offices  required.  I  was  in  the 
full  tide  of  sermon-writing  when  the  summons 
came,  and  I  hesitated  at  first  whether  to  follow 
the  messenger  at  once  or  wait  till  the  daylight 
had  quite  disappeared,  and  with  it  my  desire  to 
place  on  paper  the  thoughts  that  were  inspiring 
me  wi^^h  more  than  ordinary  fervor. 


,M 


A  Last  Request. 


251 


But  a  question  to  my  own  heart  decided  me. 
Not  my  sermon,  but  the  secret  disinclination  I 
always  felt  to  enter  this  special  family,  was  what 
in  reality  held  me  back  ;  and  this  was  a  reason 
which,  as  you  will  have  seen  from  the  words  I 
have  already  written,  I  could  not  countenance. 
I  accordingly  signified  to  the  messenger  that  I 
would  be  with  Mr.  Pollard  in  a  few  moments, 
and  putting  away  my  papers,  prepared  to  leave 
the  room. 

There  is  a  saying  in  the  Bible  to  the  effect 
that  no  man  liveth  to  himself,  nor  dieth  to  him- 
self. If  in  the  course  of  this  narrative  I  seem 
to  show  little  consideration  for  the  secrets  of 
others,  let  this  be  at  once  my  explanation  and 
excuse  :  That  only  in  the  cause  of  truth  do  I 
speak  at  all ;  and  that  in  holding  up  before  you 
the  follies  and  wrong-doings  of  persons  you 
know,  I  subject  them  to  no  heavier  penalty  than 
that  which  I  have  incurred  through  my  own  sin. 
I  shall  therefore  neither  gloss  over  nor  suppress 
any  fact  bearing  upon  a  full  explanation  of  my 
fate  ;  and  when  I  say  I  hesitated  to  go  to  Mr. 
Pollard  because  of  my  inherent  dislike  to  enter 
his  house,  1  will  proceed  to  give  as  my  reason 
for  this  dislike,  my  unconquerable  distrust  of  his 


I 

:« 


i|v 


252 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


wife,  who,  if  a  fine-looking  and  capable  woman, 
is  certainly  one  to  be  feared  by  every  candid 
and  truth-loving  nature. 

But,  as  I  said  before,  I  did  not  yield  to  the 
impulse  I  had  within  me  to  stay  ;  and,  merely 
stopping  to  cast  a  parting  glance  about  my 
room — why,  I  do  not  know,  for  I  could  have 
had  no  premonition  of  the  fact  that  I  was  bid- 
ding good-by  to  the  old  life  of  hope  and  peace 
forever — I  hastened  after  the  messenger  whom 
I  had  sent  on  before  me  to  Mr.  Pollard's  home. 

Small  occurrences  sometimes  make  great 
impressions  on  the  mind.  As  I  was  turning 
the  corner  at  Halsey  Street,  the  idiot  boy  Col- 
well  came  rushing  by,  and  almost  fell  into  my 
arms.  I  started  back,  shuddering,  as  if  some 
calamity  had  befallen  me.  An  invincible  re- 
pugnance to  any  thing  deformed  or  half-witted 
has  always  been  one  of  rny  weaknesses,  and  for 

him  to  have  touched  me I  hate  myself  as 

I  write  it,  but  I  cannot  think  of  it  now  without 
a  chill  in  my  veins  and  an  almost  unbearable 
feeling  of  physical  contamination.  Yet  as  I 
would  be  as  just  to  myself  as  I  hope  to  be  to 
others,  I  did  not  let  this  incident  pass,  without 
a  struggle  to  conquer  my  lower  nature.     Stand- 


. 


A  Last  Request. 


253 


ing  still,  I  called  the  boy  back,  and  deliberately, 
and  with  a  reverential  thought  of  the  Christ,  I 
laid  my  hand  on  his  arm,  and,  stooping,  kissed 
him.  It  cost  me  much,  but  I  could  never  have 
passed  that  corner  without  doing  it ;  nor  were 
I  to  live  years  on  this  earth,  instead  of  a  few 
short  days,  should  I  ever  let  another  week  go 
by  without  forcing  my  body  into  some  such 
contact  with  what  nature  has  afflicted  and  man 
contemned. 

The  pallor  which  I  therefore  undoubtedly 
showed  upon  entering  Mr.  Pollard's  room  was 
owing  to  the  memory  of  this  incident  rather 
than  to  any  effect  which  the  sight  of  the  dying 
man  had  upon  me.  But  before  I  had  been 
many  minutes  in  the  room,  I  found  my  pulse 
thrilling  with  new  excitement  and  my  manhood 
roused  to  repel  a  fresh  influence  more  danger- 
ous, if  less  repulsive,  than  the  last. 

Let  me  see  if  I  can  make  it  plain  to  you. 
Mr.  Pollard,  whom  we  have  all  known  as  an 
excellent  but  somewhat  weak  man,  lay  with 
his  face  turned  towards  the  room,  and  his  gaze 
fixed  with  what  I  felt  to  be  more  than  the 
common  anxiety  of  the  dying  upon  mine.  At 
his  side  sat  his  wife,  cold,  formidable,  alert, 


i 


\  1 


\\ 


N 


254 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


\ 


if  i  I 


% 


her  hand  on  his  hand,  her  eye  on  his  eye,  and 
all  her  icy  and  implacable  will  set,  as  I  could 
plainly  see,  between  him  and  any  comfort  or 
encouragement  I  might  endeavor  to  impart. 
She  even  allowed  her  large  and  commanding 
figure  to  usurp  the  place  usually  accorded  me 
on  such  occasions,  and  when,  after  a  futile 
effort  or  so  on  my  part  to  break  down  the 
barrier  of  restraint  that  such  a  presence  neces- 
sarily imposed,  I  arose  from  my  seat  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  and,  approaching  closer,  would 
have  leaned  over  her  husband,  she  put  out  her 
other  hand  and  imperatively  waved  me  aside, 
remarking: 

"  The  doctor  says  he  must  have  air." 
There  are  some  persons  whose  looks  and 
words  are  strangely  controlling.  Mrs.  Pollard 
is  one  of  these,  and  I  naturally  drew  back. 
But  a  glance  at  Mr.  Pollard's  face  made  me 
question  if  I  was  doing  right  in  this.  Such 
disappointment,  such  despair  even,  I  had  sel- 
dom seen  expressed  in  a  look  ;  and  convinced 
that  he  had  something  of  real  purport  to  say 
to  me,  I  turned  towards  his  wife,  and  reso- 
lutely remarked  : 

**  The  dying   frequently   have   communica- 


A  Last  Request, 


255 


tions  to  make  to  which  only  their  pastor's  ear 
is  welcome.  Will  you  excuse  me,  then,  if  I 
request  a  moment's  solitude  with  Mr.  Pollard, 
that  I  may  find  out  if  his  soul  is  at  rest  before 
I  raise  my  prayers  in  itt  behalf  ?"  » 

But,  before  I  had  finished,  I  saw  that  any 
such  appeal  would  be  unavailing.  If  her  im- 
movable expression  had  not  given  me  this  as- 
surance, the  horseless  closing  of  his  weak  and 
fading  eyes  would  have  sufficiently  betrayed 
the  fact. 

"  I  cannot  leave  Mr.  Pollard,"  were  the 
words  with  which  she  tempered  her  refusal. 
"  If  he  has  any  communication  to  make,  let 
him  make  it  in  my  presence.  I  am  his  wife." 
And  her  hand  pressed  more  firmly  upon  his,  and 
her  eyes,  which  had  not  stirred  from  his  face 
even  when  I  addressed  her,  assumed  a  dark,  if 
not  threatening  look,  which  gradually  forced 
his  to  open  and  meet  them. 

I  felt  that  something  must  be  done. 

"  Mr.  Pollard,"  said  I,  "  is  there  any  thing 
you  wish  to  impart  to  me  before  you  die  ? 
If  so.  speak  up  freely  and  with  confidence,  for 
I  am  here  to  do  a  friend  and  a  pastor's  duty  by 
you,  even  to  the  point  of  fulfilling  any  request 


-"mier 


V: 


1,1 


;  i. 


256 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


you  may  have  to  make,  so  it  be  only  actuated  by 
right  feeling  and  judgment."  And  determined- 
ly ignoring  her  quick  move  of  astonishment,  I 
pressed  forward  and  bent  above  him,  striving 
with  what  I  felt  to  be  a  purely  righteous 
motive,  to  attract  his  glance  from  hers,  which 
was  slowly  withering  him  away  as  if  it  were 
a  basilisk's. 

And  I  succeeded.  After  an  effort  that 
brought  the  sweat  out  on  his  brow,  he  turned 
his  look  on  mine,  and,  gathering  strength  from 
my  expression,  probably,  gave  me  one  eager 
and  appealing  glance,  and  thrust  his  left  hand 
under  his  pillow. 

His  wife,  who  saw  every  thing,  leaned  for- 
ward with  an  uneasy  gesture.  ^ 

"  What  have  you  there  ?  "  she  asked. 

But  he  had  already  drawn  forth  a  little  book 
and  placed  it  in  my  hand. 

**  Only  my  old  prayer-book,"  he  faltered.  "  I 
felt  as  if  I  should  like  Mr.  Barrows  to  have  it." 

She  gave  him  an  incredulous  stare,  and 
allowed  her  glance  to  follow  the  book.  I  im- 
mediately put  it  in  my  pocket. 

*'  I  shall  take  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in  pos- 
sessing it,"  I  remarked.  .  ,      , 


^v 


-I 


ii 


A  Last  Request, 


257 


"  Read  it,"  he  murmured  ;  "  read  it  care- 
fully." And  a  tone  of  relief  was  in  his  voice 
that  seemed  to  alarm  her  greatly  ;  for  she  half 
rose  to  her  feet  and  made  a  gesture  to  some 
one  I  did  not  see,  after  which  she  bent  again 
towards  the  dying  man  and  whispered  in  his 
ear. 

But,  though  her  manner  had  all  its  wonted 
force,  and  her  words,  whatever  they  were,  were 
lacking  in  neither  earnestness  nor  purpose,  he 
did  not  seem  to  be  affected  by  them.  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  perhaps,  he  rose  superior 
to  that  insidious  influence,  and,  nerved  by  the 
near  approach  of  death,  kept  his  gaze  fixed  on 
mine,  and  finally  stammered  :  ■; 

'*  Will  you  do  some  thing  else  for  me  ?" 

"  I  will,"  I  began,  and  might  have  said  more, 
but  he  turned  from  me  and  with  sudden  energy 
addressed  his  wife. 

**  Margaret,"  saia  he,  "  bring  me  my  d'^sk." 

Had  a  thunderbolt  fallen  at  her  feet,  she 
could  not  have  looked  more  astonished.  I 
myself  was  somewhat  surprised  ;  I  had  never 
heard  that  tone  from  him  before. 

"  My  desk ! "  he  cried  again  ;  *'  I  want  it 
here." 


I  i 


it. 


1' '  I 


m 


258 


r^^  MzVl  Mystery. 


At  this  repetition  of  his  request,  uttered 
this  time  with  all  the  vehemence  of  despair, 
Mrs.  Pollard  moved,  though  she  did  not  rise. 
At  the  same  moment  a  quick,  soft  step  was 
heard,  and  through  the  gloom  of  the  now 
rapidly  darkening  chamber  I  saw  their  younger 
son  draw  near  na  take  his  stand  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed. 

"  I  have  but  a  few  ii.inutes,"  murmured  the 
sick  man.  **  Will  you  refuse  to  make  them 
comfortable,  Margaret  ?  "  - 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered  hastily,  guided  as 
I  could  not  but  see  by  an  almost  imperceptible 
movement  of  her  son's  hand  ;  and  rising  with 
a  great  show  of  compliance,  she  proceeded  to 
the  other  end  of  the  room.  I  at  once  took  her 
place  by  the  side  of  his  pillow. 

"Is  there  no  word  of  comfort  I  can  give 
you  ? "  said  I,  anxious  for  the  soul  thus  tor- 
tured by  earthly  anxieties  on  the  very  brink  of 
the  grave. 

But  his  mind,  filled  with  one  thought,  re- 
fused to  entertain  any  other. 

"  Pray  God  that  my  strength  hold  out,"  he 
whispered.  ''  I  have  an  act  of  reparation  to 
make."      Then,  as  his  son  made  a  move  as  if 


v 


re- 


A  Last  Request, 


259 


to  advance,  he  caught  my  hand  in  his,  and 
drew  my  ear  down  to  his  mouth.  "  The  book," 
he  gasped  ;  "  keep  it  safely — they  may  try  o 
take  it  away — don't " 

But  here  his  son  intervened  with  some  word 
of  warning ;  and  Mrs.  Pollard,  hurriedly  ap- 
proaching, laid  the  desk  on  the  bed  in  such  a 
way  that  I  was  compelled  to  draw  back. 

But  this  did  not  seem  to  "waken  in  him  any 
special  distress.  From  the  i  stant  his  eyes 
fell  upon  the  desk,  a  feverish  strength  seemed 
to  seize  him,  and  looking  u[.  at  me  with  some- 
thing of  his  old  brightne.  of  look  and  manner, 
he  asked  to  have  it  opened  and  its  contents 
taken  out. 

Naturally  embarrassed  at  such  a  request,  I 
turned  to  Mrs.  Pollard. 

"  It  seems  a  strange  thing  for  me  to  do,"  I 
began ;  but  a  lightning  glance  had  already 
passed  between  her  and  her  son,  and  with  the 
cold  and  haughty  dignity  for  which  she  is  re- 
markable, she  calmly  stopped  me  with  a  quiet 
wave  of  her  hand. 


It 


M 


The  whims  of  the  dying  must  be  respected 
she  remarked,  and  reseated  herself  in  her  old 


place  at  his.  side. 


>  ii 


V. 


26o 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


I  at  once  proceeded  to  empty  the  desk.  It 
contained  mainly  letters,  and  one  legal-looking 
document,  which  I  took  to  be  his  will.  As  I 
lifted  this  out,  I  saw  mother  and  son  both  cast 
him  a  quick  glance,  as  if  they  expected  some 
move  on  his  part.  But  though  his  hands 
trembled  somewhat,  he  made  no  special  sign  of 
wishing  to  see  or  touch  it,  and  at  once  I  de- 
tected on  their  faces  a  look  of  surprise  that  « 
soon  took  on  the  character  of  dismay,  as  with 
the  lifting  of  the  last  paper  from  the  desk  he 
violently  exclaimed  : 

"  Now  break  in  the  bottom  and  take  out  the 
paper  you  will  find  there.  It  is  my  last  will 
and  testament,  and  by  every  sacred  right  you 
hold  in  this  world,  I  charge  you  to  carry  it  to 
Mr.  Nicholls,  and  see  that  no  man  nor  woman 
touches  it  till  you  give  it  into  his  hands." 

"  His  will ! "  echoed  Mrs  Pollard,  aston- 
ished. 

**  He  don't  know  what  he  says.  This  is  his 
will,"  she  was  probably  going  to  assert,  for  her 
hand  was  pointing  to  the  legal-looking  docu- 
ment I  have  before  mentioned  ;  but  a  gesture 
from  her  son  made  her  stop  before  the  last  , 
word  was  uttered.     "  He  must  be  wandering 


y\ 


i 


M 


ifll  Wf 


A  Last  Request, 


261 


It 


1 1 


in  his  mind,"  she  declared.  "  We  know  of  no 
will  hidden  away  in  his  desk.     Ah  !  " 

The  last  exclamation  was  called  forth  by  the 
sudden  slipping  into  view  of  a  folded  paper 
from  between  the  crevices  of  the  desk.  I  had 
found  the  secret  spring.  The  next  instant  the 
bottom  fell  out,  and  the  paper  slipped  to  the 
floor.  I  was  quick  to  recover  it.  Had  I  not 
been,  Mrs.  Pollard  would  have  had  it  in  her 
grasp.  As  it  was,  our  hands  met,  not  without 
a  shock,  I  fear,  on  either  side.  A  gasp  of 
intense  suspense  came  from  the  bed. 

**  Keep  it,"  the  dying  eyes  seemed  to  say ; 
and  if  mine  spoke  as  plainly  as  his  did,  they 
answered  with  full  as  much  meaning  and 
force  : 

"  I  will." 

Guy  Pollard  and  his  mother  looked  at  each 
other,  then  at  the  pocket  into  which  I  had 
already  thrust  the  paper.  The  dying  man 
followed  their  glances,  and  with  a  final  exer- 
tion of  strength,  raised  himself  on  his  elbow. 

*'  My  curse  on  him  or  her  who  seeks  to  step 
between  me  and  the  late  reparation  I  have 
sought  to  make.  Weaker  than  most  men,  I 
have  submitted  to  your  will,  Margaret,  up  to 


i 


s  f 


i^ 


262 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


this  hour,  but  your  reign  is  over  at  last,  and — 

and "     The  passionate  words  died  away, 

the  feverish  energy  succumbed,  and  with  one 
last  look  into  my  face,  Samuel  Pollard  fell  back 
upon  his  pillow,  dead. 


/'  > 


'  /■ 


d— 

/ay, 
one 
ack 


■ 


XIX. 


1  1-: 
i  I 


A    FATAL    DELAY. 

Would'st  thou  have  that 
Which  thou  esteem'st  the  ornament  of  life, 
And  live  a  coward  in  thine  own  esteem, 
Letting  "  I  dare  not,"  wait  upon  **  I  would," 
Like  the  poor  cat  i'  the  adage  ?  - 

— Macbeth. 

HE  was  to  all  appearance  immediately  for- 
gotten. As  with  mutual  consent  we 
all  turned  and  faced  each  other,  Mrs.  Pollard 
with  a  stern,  inexorable  look  in  her  dark  eye, 
which,  while  it  held  me  enchained,  caused 
me  to  involuntarily  lay  my  hand  upon  the 
document  which  I  had  hidden  in  my  breast. 
She  noticed  the  movement,  and  smiled  darkly 
with  a  sidelong  look  at  her  son.  The  smile 
and  the  look  affected  me  strangely.  In  them 
I  seemed  to  detect  something  deeper  than  ha- 
tred and  baffled  rage,  and  when  in  a  moment 
later  her  son  responded  to  her  r'ancc  by 
quietly   withdrawing   from    the   roo:  i,    I    felt 

263 


4ii 


•I 


m 


i 


:l 


I 


m 


u 


264 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


such  revolt  against  their  secrecy  that  for  a 
moment  I  was  tempted  to  abandon  an  under- 
dert^king  that  promised  to  bring  me  in  con- 
flict with  passions  of  so  deep  and  unrelenting 
a  nature. 

But  the  impression  which  the  pain  and 
despair  of  my  dead  friend  had  made  upon 
me  was  as  yet  too  recent  for  me  to  yield  to 
my  first  momentary  apprehensions  ;  and  sum- 
moning up  what  resolution  I  possessed,  I  took 
my  leave  of  Mrs.  Pollard,  and  was  hastening 
towards  the  door,  when  her  voice,  rising  cold 
and  clear,  arrested  me. 

"  Yov  think,  then,  that  it  is  your  duty  to 
carry   this   paper   from    the  house,   Mr.   Bar- 

"  Yes,  madam,  I  do,"  was  my  short  reply. 

"In  spite  of  my  protest  and  that  of  my 
son  r 

"  Yes,  madam." 

''  Then  upon  your  head  be  the  conse- 
quences !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  turned  her  back 
upon  me  with  a  look  which  went  with  me  as 
I  closed  the  door  between  us  ;  lending  a  gloom 
to  the  unlighted  halls  and  sombre  staircases 
that  affected  me  almost  with  an  impulse  of  fear. 


'   ( 


A  Fatal  Delay. 


265 


. 


I  dreaded  crossing  to  where  the  stairs  de- 
scended ;  I  dreaded  going  down  them  into  the 
darkness  which  I  saw  below.  Not  that  I  an- 
ticipated actual  harm,  but  that  I  felt  I  was 
in  the  house  of  those  who  longed  to  see  me 
the  victim  of  it  ;  and  my  imagination  being 
more  than  usually  alert,  I  even  found  myself 
fancying  the  secret  triumph  with  which  Guy 
Pollard  would  hail  an  incautious  slip  on  my 
part,  that  would  precipitate  me  from  the  top 
to  the  bottom  of  this  treacherous  staircase. 
That  he  was  somewhere  between  me  and  the 
front  door,  I  felt  certain.  The  deadly  quiet 
behind  and  before  me  seemed  to  assure  me  of 
this  ;  and,  ashamed  as  I  was  of  the  impulse 
that  moved  me,  I  could  not  prevent  myself 
from  stepping  cautiously  as  I  prepared  to 
descend,  saying  as  some  sort  of  excuse  to 
myself :  "  He  is  capable  of  seeing  me  trip 
without  assistance,"  and  as  my  imagination 
continued  its  work  :  "  He  is  even  capable  of 
putting  out  his  foot  to  help  forward  such  a 
catastrophe." 

And,  indeed,  I  now  think  that  if  this  simple 
plan  had  presented  itself  to  his  subtle  mind,  of 
stunning,  if  not  disabling  me,  and  thus  making 


266 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


t^ 


\ 


\ 


-W 


i 


It  possible  for  them  to  obtain  his  father's  will 
without  an  open  assault,  he  would  not  have 
hesitated  to  embrace  it.  But  he  evidently  did 
not  calculate,  as  I  did,  the  chances  of  such  an 
act,  or  perhaps  he  felt  that  I  was  likely  to  be 
too  much  upon  my  guard  to  fall  a  victim  to 
this  expedient,  for  I  met  no  one  as  I  advanced, 
and  was  well  down  the  stairs  and  on  my  way 
to  the  front  door,  before  I  perceived  any  signs 
of  life  in  the  sombre  hbuse.  Then  a  sudden 
glare  of  light  across  my  path  betrayed  the  fact 
that  a  door  had  been  swung  wide  in  a  certain 
short  passage  that  opened  ahead  of  me ;  and 
while  I  involuntarily  stopped,  a  shadow  creep- 
ing along  the  further  wall  of  that  passage 
warned  me  that  some  one — I  could  not  doubt 
it  to  be  Guy  Pollard — had  come  out  to  meet 
me. 

The  profound  stillness,  and  the  sudden  pause 
which  the  shadow  made  as  I  inconsiderately 
stumbled  in  my  hesitation,  assured  me  that  I 
was  right  in  attributing  a  sinister  motive  to 
this  encounter.  Naturally,  therefore,  I  drew 
back,  keeping  my  eyes  upon  the  shadow.  It 
did  not  move.  Convinced  now  that  danger  of 
some  kind  lay  ahead  of  me,  I  looked  behind 


A  Fatal  Delay, 


267 


and  about  me  for  some  means  of  escaping 
from  the  house  without  passing  by  my  half- 
seen  enemy.  But  none  presented  themselves. 
Either  I  must  slink  away  into  the  kitchen 
region — a  proceeding  from  which  my  whole 
manhood  revolted, — or  I  must  advance  and 
face  whatever  evil  awaited  me.  Desperation 
drove  me  to  the  latter  course.  Making  one 
bound,  I  stood  before  that  lighted  passage.  A 
slim,  firm  figure  confronted  me  ;  but  it  was  not 
that  of  Guy,  but  of  his  older  brother,  Dwight. 

The  surprise  of  the  shock,  together  with  a 
certain  revelation  which  came  to  me  at  the 
same  moment,  and  of  which  I  will  speak  here- 
after, greatly  unnerved  me.  I  had  not  been 
thinking  of  Dwight  Pollard.  Strange  as  it 
may  seem,  I  had  not  even  missed  him  from  the 
bedside  of  his  father.  To  see  him,  then,  here 
and  now,  caused  many  thoughts  to  spring  into 
my  mind,  foremost  among  which  was  the  im- 
portant one  as  to  whether  he  was  of  a  nature 
to  lend  himself  to  any  scheme  of  violence. 
The  quickness  with  which  I  decided  to  the 
contrary  proved  to  me  in  what  different  esti- 
mation I  had  always  held  him  from  what  I  had 
his  mother  and  brother. 


268 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


'  fi. 


It  was  consequently  no  surprise  to  me  whe.i 
he  leaned  forward  and  spoke  to  me  with  con- 
sideration and  force.  I  was  only  surprised  at 
his  words  :     . 

"  Don't  stop,  Mr.  Barrows,"  said  he.  "  Go 
home  at  once  ;  only  " — and  here  he  paused, 
listened,  then  proceeded  with  increased  em- 
phasis, "  don't  go  by  the  way  of  Orchard 
Street."  And  without  waiting  for  my  reply, 
he  stepped  back  and  noiselessly  regained  the 
apartment  he  had  left,  while  I,  in  a  confusion  of 
emotions  difficult  to  analyze  at  the  momeni:, 
hastily  accepted  his  advice,  and  withdrew  from 
the  house. 

The  relief  of  breathing  die  fresh  air  again 
was  indescribable.  If  I  had  not  escaped  the 
miasm?  and  oppression  of  a  mison,  I  certainly 
had  left  behind  me  influence  f  darkness  and 
sinister  suggestion  which,  in  the  light  of  the 
calm  moonbeams  that  I  found  flooding  the 
world  without,  had  the  effect  upon  me  of  a 
vanished  horror.  Only  I  was  still  haunted  by 
that  last  phrase  which  I  had  heard  uttered, 
"  Oon't  go  by  the  way  of  Orchard  Street,"  an 
injunction  which  simply  meant,  "  Don't  go 
with  til  at  document  to  the  lawyer's  to-night." 


A  Fatal  Delay, 


260 


M 


Now  was  this  order,  given  as  it.  was  by 
Dwight  Pollard,  one  of  warning  or  of  simple 
threat  ?  My  good-will  toward  this  especial 
member  of  the  Pollard  family  inclined  me  to 
think  it  the  former. 

There  was  danger,  then,  lurking  for  m.e 
somewhere  on  the  road  to  Mr.  Nicholls'  house. 
Was  it  my  duty  to  encounter  this  danger  ?  It 
appeared  to  me  not,  especially  as  it  was  not 
necessary  for  me  to  acquit  myself  so  instantly 
of  the  commission  with  which  I  had  been 
intrusted.  I  accordingly  proceeded  directly 
home. 

But  once  again  in  my  familiar  study,  I  be- 
came  conscious  of  a  strong  dissatisfaction  with 
myself.  Indeed,  I  may  speak  more  forc'bly 
and  say  I  was  conscious  of  a  loss  of  trust  vH 
my  own  manhood,  which  was  at  once  so  iiew 
and  startling  that  it  was  as  if  a  line  had  been 
drawn  between  my  past  and  present.  Tais 
was  due  to  the  discovery  I  had  made  at  the 
moment  I  had  confronted  Dwight  Pollard — a 
discovery  so  humiliating  in  its  character  that  it 
had  shaken  me,  body  and  soul.  I  had  found 
in  the  light  of  that  critical  instant  that  I, 
David  Barrows,  was  a  cozvarcf !     Yes,  gloss  it 


2  70 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


'' 


i:l:l 


■l' 


over  as  I  would,  the  knowledge  was  deep  in  my 
mind  that  I  lacked  manhood's  most  virile  attri- 
bute ;  that  peril,  real  or  imaginary,  could 
awaken  in  me  fear ;  and  that  the  paling  cheek 
and  trembling  limbs  of  which  I  had  been  so 
bitterly  conscious  at  that  instant  were  but  the 
outward  signs  of  a  weakness  that  extended 
deep  down  into  my  soul. 

It  was  a  revelation  calculated  to  stagger  any 
.man,  how  much  more,  then,  one  who  had  so 
relied  upon  his  moral  powers  as  to  take  upon 
himself  the  sacred  name  of  minister.  But  this 
was  not  all.  I  had  not  only  found  myself  to 
be  a  coward,  but  I  had  shown  myself  such  to 
another's  eye.s.  By  the  searching  look  which 
Dwight  Pollard  had  given  me  before  he  spoke,- 
and  the  quiet,  half-disdainful  curve  which  his 
lips  took  at  the  close  of  his  scrutiny,  I  was 
convinced  that  he  saw  the  defect  in  my  nature, 
and  despised  me  for  it,  even  while  he  conde- 
scended to  offer  me  the  protection  which  my 
fears  becnied  to  demand.  Or — the  thought 
could  come  now  that  I  was  at  home,  and  had 
escaped  the  dangers  lying  in  wait  for  me  on 
the  road  tc>  my  duty — he  had  made  use  of  my 
weakness  to  gain  his  own  ends.     The  carrying 


.iji^iiiSi* 


A  Fatal  Delay, 


271 


>  in  my 
le  attri- 
could 
cheek 
een  so 
)ut  the 
tended 

yer  any 

had  so 

e  upon 

5ut  this 

^self  to 

;uch  to 

which 

spoke, 

ich  his 

I  was 

nature, 

conde- 

ch  my 

louofht 

id  had 

me  on 

of  my 

irrying 


of  that  document  to  Mr.  Nicholls  meant  loss 
of  property  to  them  all  perhaps,  and  he  had 
but  taken  means,  consistent  with  his  character, 
to  insure  the  delay  which  his  brother  had  pos- 
sibly planned  to  gain  in  some  more  reprehen- 
sible manner.  And  I  had  yielded  to  my  fears 
and  let  his  will  have  its  way.  I  hated  myself 
as  I  considered  my  own  weakness.  I  could 
find  no  excuse  either  for  my  pusillanimity  or 
for  that  procrastination  of  my  duty  into  which 
it  had  betrayed  me.  I  found  I  could  not  face 
my  own  scorn  ;  and,  rising  from  my  study- 
chair,  I  took  my  hat  and  went  out.  I  had 
determined  to  make  amends  for  my  fault  by 
going  at  once  to  Orchard  Street. 

And  I  did ;  but  alas  !  for  the  result  !  The 
half-hour  I  had  lost  was  fatal.  To  be  sure  I 
met  with  no  adventure  on  my  way,  but  I  found 
Mr.  Nicholls  out.  He  had  been  summoned 
by  a  telegram  to  Boston,  and  had  been  absent 
from  the  house  only  fifteen  minutes.  I  medi- 
tated following  him  to  the  station,  but  the 
whistle  sounded  just  as  I  turned  away  from  his 
door,  and  I  knew  1  should  be  too  late.  Hu- 
miliated still  further  in  my  own  estimation,  I 
went  home  to,  wait  with  what  patience  I  could 


W' 


272 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


Ifl 


1'^ 


III 


for  the  two  or  three  days  which  must  elapse 
before  his  return. 

Before  I  went  to  bed  that  night  I  opened 
the  book  which  Mr.  Pollard  had  given  me,  in 
the  expectation  of  finding  a  letter  in  it,  or,  at 
least,  some  writing  on  the  title-page  or  the 
blank  pages  of  the  book.  But  I  was  disap- 
pointed in  both  regards.  With  the  exception 
of  some  minute  pencil-marks  scattered  here 
and  there  along  the  text — indications,  doubt- 
less, of  favorite  passages — I  perceived  nothing 
in  the  volume  to  account  for  the  extreme  ear- 
nestness with  which  he  had  presented  it. 


11  f 


\\ 


elapse 


opened 
me,  in 
,  or,  at 
or  the 
disap- 
:eptIon 
d  here 
doubt- 
othing 
ne  ear- 


XX. 

THE    OLD    MILL. 

Whither  wilt  thou  lead  me  ?  speak  ;  I  '11  go  no  further. 

— Hamlet. 

I  DID  not  sleep  well  that  night,  but  this  did 
not  prevent  me  froiii  beginning  work 
early  in  the  morning.  The  sermon  I  had  been 
interrupted  in  the  afternoon  before,  had  to  be 
completed  that  day  ;  and  I  was  hard  at  work 
upon  it  when  there  came  a  knock  at  my  study- 
door.  I  arose  with  any  thing  but  alacrity  and 
opened  it.      Dwight  Pollard  stood  before  me. 

It  was  a  surprise  that  called  up  a  flush  to 
my  cheeks  ;  but  daylight  was  shining  upon 
this  interview,  and  I  knew  none  of  those  sen- 
sations which  had  unnerved  me  the  night 
before.  I  was  simply  on  my  guard,  and  saw 
him  seat  himself  in  my  own  chair,  without  any 
other  feeling  than  that  of  curiosity  as  to  '  le 
nature  of   his   errand.     He  likewise  was  ex- 


I  Vh 


273 


.'i- 


274 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


i\  ti 


tremely  self-possessed,  and  looked  at  me  calm- 
ly for  some  instants  before  speaking. 

"Last  night,"  he  began,  "you  refused  a 
request  which  my  mother  made  of  you." 

I  bowed. 

"It  was  a  mistake,"  he  continued.  "The 
paper  which  my  father  gave  you  cannot  be 
one  which  he  in  his  right  senses  would  wish 
seen  by  the  public.  You  should  have  trusted 
my  mother,  who  knew  my  father  much  better 
than  you  did." 

"It  was  not  a  matter  of  trust,"  I  pro- 
test. "  A  document  had  been  given  me  by 
a  dying  man,  with  an  injunction  to  put  it 
into  certain  hands.  I  had  no  choice  but  to 
fulfil  his  wishes  in  this  regard.  Your  mother 
herself  would  have  despised  me  if  I  had  yield- 
ed to  her  importunities  and  left  it  behind  me." 

"  My  mother,"  he  commenced. 

"  Your  mother  is  your  mother,"  I  put  in. 
"  Let  us  have  respect  for  her  widowhood,  and 
leave  her  out  of  this  conversation." 

He  looked  at  me  closely,  and  I  understood 
his  glance. 

"  I  cannot  return  you  your  father's  will,"  I 
declared,  firmly. 


The  Old  Mill, 


275 


e  calm- 
used  a 


'^The 
not  be 
d  wish 
Tusted 
better 

[  pro- 
me  by 
put  it 
but  to 
lother 
yield- 
1  me." 

»ut  in. 
1,  and 

stood 

ill,"  I 


He  held  my  glance  with  his. 

*'  Have  you  it  still  ?"  he  asked. 

''  I  cannot  return  it  to  you,"  I  repeated. 

He  arose  and  approached  me  courteously. 
"  You  are  doing  what  you  consider  to  be  your 
duty,"  said  he.  "In  other  words  than  my 
mother  used,  I  simply  add,  on  our  heads  must 
be  the  consequences."  And  his  grave  look,  at 
once  half-sad  and  half-determined,  impressed 
me  for  the  first  time  with  a  certain  sort  of 
sympathy  for  this  unhappy  family.  "  And 
this  leads  me  to  the  purpose  of  my  call,"  he 
proceeded,  deferentially.  "  I  am  here  at  my 
mother's  wish,  and  I  bring  you  her  apologies. 
Though  you  have  done  and  are  doing  wrong 
by  your  persistence  in  carrying  out  my  poor 
father's  wishes  to  the  detriment  of  his  memory, 
my  mother  regrets  that  she  spoke  to  you  in 
the  manner  she  did,  and  hopes  you  will  not 
allow  it  to  stand  in  the  way  of  your  conducting 
the  funeral  services." 

"  Mr.  Pollard,"  I  replied,  "  your  father  was 
my  friend,  and  to  no  other  man  could  I  dele- 
gate the  privilege  of  uttering  prayers  over  his 
remains.  But  I  would  not  be  frank  to  you 
nor  true  to  niyself  if  I  did  not  add  that  it  will 


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276 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


take  more  than  an  apology  from  your  mother 
to  convince  me  that  she  wishes  me  well,  or  is, 
indeed,  any  thing  but  the  enemy  her  looks  pro- 
claimed her  to  be  last  night." 

*'  I  am  sorry "  he  began,  but  meeting  my 

eye,  stopped.  "  You  possess  a  moral  courage 
which  I  envy  you,"  he  declared.  And  waiving 
the  subject  of  his  mother,  he  proceeded  to  in- 
form me  concerning  the  funeral  and  the  arrange- 
ments which  had  been  made. 

I  listened  calmly.  In  the  presence  of  this 
man  I  felt  strong.  Though  he  knew  the  secret 
of  my  weakness,  and  possibly  despised  me  for 
it,  he  also  knew  what  indeed  he  had  just  ac- 
knowledged, that  in  some  respects  I  was  on  a 
par  with  him. 

The  arrangements  were  soon  made,  and  he 
took  his  leave  without  any  further  allusion  to 
personal  matters.  But  I  noticed  that  at  the 
door  he  stopped  and  cast  a  look  of  inquiry 
around  the  room.  It  disconcerted  me  some- 
what ;  and  while  I  found  it  d'ti'icult  to  express 
to  myself  the  nature  of  the  apprehensions  which 
It  caused,  I  inwardly  resolved  to  rid  myself  as 
soon  as  possible  of  the  responsibility  of  holding 
Mr.  Pollard's  will.     If  Mr.  Nicholls  did  not  re- 


v\ 


The  Old  Mill. 


277 


mother 
II,  or  is, 
)ks  pro- 
ting  my 
courage 
waiving 
i  to  in- 
rrange- 

of  this 
e  secret 

me  for 
iust  ac- 
ts on  a 

and  he 
sion  "o 
at  the 
inquiry 
some- 
express 
)  which 
self  as 
lolding 
lot  re- 


turn by  the  day  of  the  funeral,  I  would  go  my- 
self to  Boston  and  find  him. 

No  occurrence  worth  mentioning  followed 
this  interview  with  Dwight  Pollard.  I  conduct- 
ed the  services  as  I  had  promised,  but  found 
nothing  to  relate  concerning  them,  save  the  fact 
that  Mrs.  Pollard  was  not  present.  She  had 
been  very  much  prostrated  by  her  husband's 
death,  and  was  not  able  to  leave  her  room,  or 
so  it  was  said.  I  mistrusted  the  truth  of  this, 
however,  but  must  acknowledge  I  was  glad  to 
be  relieved  of  a  presence  not  only  so  obnoxious 
to  myself,  but  so  out  of  tune  with  the  occasion. 
I  could  ignore  Guy,  subtle  and  secret  as  he  was, 
but  this  woman  could  not  be  ignored.  Where 
she  was,  there  brooded  something  dark,  mys- 
terious, and  threatening  ;  and  whether  she 
smiled  or  frowned,  the  influence  of  her  spirit 
was  felt  by  a  vague  oppression  at  once  impos- 
sible to  analyze  or  escape  from. 

From  the  cemetery  I  went  immediately  to  my 
house.  The  day  was  a  dreary  one,  and  I  felt 
chilled.  The  gray  of  the  sky  was  in  my  spirit, 
and  every  thing  seemed  unreal  and  dark  and 
and  strange.  I  was  in  a  mood,  I  suppose,  and, 
unlike   myself  on   other  similar  occasions,  did 


278 


The  Mu.  Mystery. 


It 


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■I 

1 

J) 

not  feel  that  drawing  towards  the  one  dear  heart 
which  hitherto  had  afforded  me  solace  and  sup- 
port. I  had  not  got  used  to  my  new  self  as  yet, 
and  till  I  did,  the  smile  of  her  I  loved  was  more 
of  a  reproach  to  me  than  consolation. 

I  was  stopped  at  the  gate  by  Mrs.  Banks. 
She  is  my  next-door  neighbor,  and  in  the  ab- 
sence of  my  landlady,  who  had  gone  to  visit 
some  friends,  took  charge  of  any  message  which 
might  be  left  for  me  while  I  was  out.  She 
looked  flurried  and  mysterious. 

"  You  have  had  a  visitor,"  she  announced. 

As  she  paused  and  looked  as  if  she  expected 
to  be  questioned,  I  naturally  asked  who  it  was. 

*'  She  said  she  was  your  sister,"  she  declared. 
"  A  tall  woman  with  a  thick  veil  over  her  face. 
She  went  right  up  to  your  study,  but  I  think 
she  m.ust  have  got  tired  of  waiting,  for  she  went 
away  again  a  few  moments  ago." 

My  sister !  I  had  no  sister.  I  looked  at 
Mrs.  Banks  in  amazement. 

"  Describe  her  more  particularly,"  said  I. 

*•  That  I  cannot  do,"  she  returned.  "  Her  veil 
hid  her  features  too  completely  for  me  to  see 
them.  I  could  not  even  tell  her  age,  but  I 
should  say,  from  the  way  she  walked,  that  she 
was  older  than  you." 


The  Old  Mill 


279 


ir  heart 
id  sup- 
as  yet, 
s  more 

Banks, 
he  ab- 
:o  visit 
i  which 
.     She 

ced. 
:pected 
it  was. 
dared, 
r  face, 
think 
e  went 

ced  at 

I. 

er  veil 
to  see 
but  I 
at  she 


A  chill,  which  did  not  come  entirely  from  the 
east  wind  then  blowing,  ran  sharply  through 
my  veins. 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  I,  somewhat  incoher- 
ently, and  ran  hastily  up-stairs.  I  had  a  pre- 
sentiment as  to  the  identity  of  this  woman. 

At  the  door  of  my  study  I  paused  and  looked 
hurriedly  around.  No  signs  of  any  disturbance 
met  my  eye.  Crossing  over  to  my  desk,  I  sur- 
veyed the  papers  which  I  had  left  scattered 
somewhat  loosely  over  it.  They  had  been 
moved.  I  knew  it  by  the  position  of  the  blot- 
ter, which  I  had  left  under  a  certain  sheet  of 
paper,  and  which  now  lay  on  top.  Hot  and 
cold  at  once,  I  went  immediately  to  the  spot 
where  I  had  concealed  Mr.  Pollard's  will  It 
was  in  my  desk,  but  underneath  a  drawer  in- 
stead of  in  it,  and  by  this  simple  precaution, 
perhaps,  I  had  saved  it  from  destruction  ;  for  I 
found  it  lying  in  its  place  undisturbed,  though 
the  hand  which  had  crept  so  near  its  hiding- 
place  was,  as  I  felt  certain,  no  other  than 
that  of  Mrs.  Pollard,  searching  for  this  very 
document. 

It  gave  me  a  shuddering  sense  of  disquiet  to 
think  that  the  veiled  figure  of  this  portentous 


m 


i 


280 


5  ii 

li 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


III 


woman  had  glided  over  my  floors,  reflected 
itself  in  my  mirrors,  and  hung,  dark  and  mys- 
terious in  its  veiling  drapery,  over  my  desk 
and  the  papers  which  I  had  handled  myself  so 
lately. 

I  was  struck,  too,  by  the  immovable  deter- 
mination to  compass  her  own  ends  at  any  and 
every  risk,  which  was  manifested  by  this  inci- 
dent ;  and,  vvondering  more  and  more  as  to 
what  had  been  the  nature  of  the  offence  for 
which  Mr.  Pollard  sought  to  make  reparation 
in  his  will,  I  only  waited  for  a  moment  of 
leisure  in  order  to  make  another  effort  at  en- 
lightenment by  a  second  study  of  the  prayer- 
book  which  my  dying  friend  had  placed  so 
earnestly  in  my  hands. 

It  came,  as  I  supposed,  about  eight  o'clock 
that  evening.  The  special  duties  of  the  day 
were  done,  and  I  knew  of  nothing  else  that 
demanded  my  attention.  I  therefore  took  the 
book  from  my  pocket,  where  I  had  fortunately 
kept  it,  and  was  on  the  point  of  opening  its 
pages,  when  there  came  a  ring  at  the  door-bell 
below. 

As  I  have  said  before,  my  landlady  was 
away.     I  consequently  went  to  the  door  my- 


■III 
■,ii 


7  he  Old  Mill, 


281 


eflected 
nd  mys- 
ly  desk 
yself  so 

2  deter- 
my  and 
lis  inci- 
e  as  to 
nee  for 
•aration 
lent  of 
at  en- 
prayer- 
ced  so 

o'clock 
le  day 
that 
ok  the 
nately 
ng  its 
or-bell 

y  was 
r  my- 


self, where  I  was  met  by  an  unexpected  visitor 
in  the  shape  of  the  idiot  boy,  Colwell.  Some- 
what disconcerted  at  the  sight  of  a  face  so  re- 
pugnant to  me,  I  was  still  more  thrown  off  my 
balance  when  I  heard  his  errand.  He  had 
been  sent,  he  said,  by  a  man  who  had  been 
thrown  from  his  wagon  on  the  north  road, 
and  was  now  lying  in  a  dying  condition  inside 
the  old  mill,  before  which  he  was  picked  up. 
Would  I  come  and  see  him  ?  He  had  but  an 
hour  or  so  to  live,  and  wished  very  much  for  a 
clergyman's  consolation. 

It  was  a  call  any  thing  but  agreeable  to  me. 
I  was  tired  ;  I  was  interested  in  the  attempt 
which  I  was  about  to  make  to  solve  a  mystery 
that  was  not  altogether  disconnected  with  my 
own  personal  welfare,  and — let  me  acknowl- 
edge it,  since  events  have  proved  I  had  reason 
to  fear  this  spot — I  did  not  like  the  old  mill. 
But  I  was  far  from  conceiving  what  a  wretched 
experience  lay  before  me,  nor  did  the  fact 
that  the  unwelcome  request  came  through  the 
medium  of  an  imbecile  arouse  any  suspicion  in 
my  mind  as  to  the  truth  of  the  message  he 
brought  For,  foolish  as  he  is  in  some  regards, 
his  reliability  as  an  errand-boy  is  universally 


■1^ 

( ■ 


Si 


I 


:   - 


•f 


'ti 


1 


!■' 


282 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


It 


v>. 


known,  while  his  partiality  for  roaming,  as  well 
as  for  excitements  of  all  kinds,  fully  accounted 
for  the  fact  of  his  being  upon  the  scene  of 
accident. 

I  had,  then,  nothing  but  my  own  disinclina- 
tions to  contend  with,  and  these,  strong  as 
they  were,  could  not,  at  that  time,  and  in  the 
mood  which  my  late  experience  had  induced, 
long  stand  in  the  way  of  a  duty  so  apparent. 

I  consequently  testified  my  willingness  to  go 
to  the  mill,  and  in  a  few  minutes  later  set. out 
for  that  spot  with  a  mind  comparatively  free 
from  disagreeable  forebodings.  But  as  we  ap- 
proached the  mill,  and  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
il>  frowning  walls  glooming  so  darkly  from 
out  the  cluster  of  trees  that  environed  them,  T 
own  that  a  sensation  akin  to  that  which  had 
been  av^rakened  in  me  by  Mrs.  Pollard's  threats, 
and  the  portentous  darkness  of  her  sombre 
mansion,  once  again  swept  with  its  chilling 
effect  over  my  nerves. 

Shocked,  disgusted  with  myself  at  the  re- 
currence of  a  weakness  for  which  I  had  so 
little  sympathy,  I  crushed  down  the  feelingG  I 
experienced,  and  advanced  at  once  to  the 
door.     A  tall  and  slim  figure  met  me,  clothed 

.    ■    ■       ■  .  \ 


The  Old  Mill, 


283 


as  well 
ounted 
:ene  of 

inclina- 
ong  as 
in  the 
iduced, 
.rent, 
s  to  go 
set.  out 
ily  free 
we  ap- 
ipse  of 
^  from 
hem,  T 
:h  had 
hreats, 
;ombre 
:hilling 

the  re- 
lad  so 
ing3  I 
;o  the 
lothed 

\ 


in  some  dark  enveloping  garment,  and  carrying 
a  lantern. 

"  The  injured  man  is  within,"  said  he. 

Something  in  the  voice  made  me  look  up. 
His  face  was  entirely  in  shadow. 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  I  asked. 

He  did  not  reply. 

**  Let  us  go  in,"  he  said. 

A  week  before  I  would  have  refused  to  do 
this  without  knowing  more  of  my  man.  But 
the  shame  from  which  I  had  suffered  for  the 
last  few  days  had  made  me  so  distrustful  of  my- 
self that  I  was  ready  to  impute  to  cowardice 
even  the  most  ordinary  instinct  of  self-preser- 
vation. 

I  accordingly  followed  the  man,  though  with 
each  step  that  I  took  I  felt  my  apprehensions 
increase.  To  pierce  in  this  manner  a  depth 
of  sombre  c'arkness,  with  only  the  dim  outline 
of  an  unknown  man  moving  silently  before 
me,  was  any  thing  but  encouraging  in  itself. 
Then  the  way  was  too  long,  and  the  spot  we 
sought  too  far  from  the  door.  A  really  injured 
man  would  not  be  carried  beyond  the  first 
room,  I  thought,  and  we  had  already  taken 
seeps   enough    to   be   half-way   through    the 


!: 


l! 


f 


8^' 


: 


^: 


m 


ni 


i|; 


1 1 


'84 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


V 

I: 


!)H 


r 


II 


^1 

nil 

^i 

!'!{ 1 

II 

H^K^^^H' ' 

1 

!l 

^H  Mm   K 

ij 

III 

1 

^1     H 

1 

i 

■      1 

Im 

^  ._! 

1. 

building.  At  last  I  felt  that  even  cowardice 
was  excusable  under  these  circumstances,  and, 
putting  out  my  hand,  I  touched  the  man  be- 
fore me  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Where  are  we  going  ?  "  I  demanded. 

He  continued  to  move  on  without  reply. 

"  I  shall  follow  you  no  longer  if  you  do  not 
speak,"  I  cried  again.  **  This  midnight  jour- 
ney through  an  old  building  ready  to  fall  into 
ruins  seems  to  me  not  only  unpleasant  but 
hazardous." 

Still  no  answer. 

"  I  warned  you,"  I  said,  and  stopped,  but 
the  next  moment  I  gave  an  almost  frantic 
bound  forward.  A  form  had  come  up  against 
me  from  behind,  and  I  found  that  a  man  was 
following  as  closely  upon  my  steps  as  I  had 
been  following  those  of  the  person  who  stalked 
before  me. 

The  thrill  of  this  discovery  will  never  be 
forgotten  by  me.  For  a  moment  I  could  not 
speak,  and  when  I  did,  the  sound  of  my  voice 
only  added  to  my  terrors. 

'*  You  have  me  in  a  trap,"  said  I  ;  "who  are 
you,  and  what  are  your  intentions  with  me  ?  " 

"  We  have  you  where  we  can  reason  with 


ardice 
},  and, 
an  be- 


ly. 

lo  not 

jour- 

1  into 

It  but 


The  Old  Mill. 


285 


you,"  exclaimed  the  voice  of  him  who  pressed 
against  my  back  ;  and  at  the  sound  of  those 
gentlemanly  tones  with  their  underlying  note 
of  sarcasm,  I  understood  that  my  hour  had 
come.  It  was  the  voice  and  intonation  of  Guy 
Pollard. 


d,  but 
"rantic 
gainst 
n  was 
I  had 
talked 

er  be 

d  not 

voice 


10  are 
ne?" 
1  with 


XXI. 


THE    VAT. 

Des. — Talk  you  of  killing  ? 
0th.— Ay,  I  do. 
Des. — Then,  heaven 

Have  mercy  on  me  ! — Othello. 

I  QUIVERED  with  shame,  for  I  felt  my 
heart  sink.  But  there  was  no  pause  in 
the  smooth,  sarcastic  tones  behind  me.  "  When 
a  man  persists  in  judging  of  his  duty  contrary 
to  the  dictates  of  reason,  he  must  expect  re- 
straint from  those  who  understand  his  position 
betcer  than  he  does  nimself." 

'*  Then,"  quoth  I,  with  suddenly  acquired 
strength,  **  I  am  to  understand  that  the  re- 
spectable family  of  Pollard  finds  itself  willing 
to  resort  to  the  means  and  methods  of  high- 
waymen in  order  to  compass  its  ends  and 
teach  me  my  duty." 

"  You  are,"  a  determined  voice  returned. 

At  that  word,  uttered  as  it  was  in  a  tone 

286 


u  = 


The  Vat. 


287 


Sit  my 
use  in 
When 
mtrary 
ect  re- 
osition 

quired 
he  re- 
vsrilling 
f  high- 
s   and 

ed. 
a  tone 


inexorable  as  fate,  my  last  ray  of  hope  went 
out.     The  voice  was  that  of  a  woman. 

I  however,  made  a  strong  effort  for  the 
preservation  of  my  dignity  and  person. 

"  And  will  Samuel  Pollard's  oldest  and  best- 
beloved  son,  the  kind-hearted  and  honest 
Dwight,  lend  himself  to  a  scheme  of  common 
fraud  and  violence  ?  "  I  asked. 

The  reply  came  in  his  brother's  most  sarcas- 
tic tones.  **  Dwight  has  left  us,"  he  declared. 
**  We  have  no  need  of  honesty  or  kind-heart- 
edness here.  What  we  want  for  this  business 
is  an  immovable  determination." 

Startled,  I  looked  up.  The  lantern  which 
had  hitherto  swung  from  the  hand  of  my 
guide  stood  on  the  floor.  By  its  light  three 
things  were  visible.  First,  that  we  stood  at 
the  head  of  a  staircase  descending  into  a  depth 
of  darkness  which  the  eye  could  not  pierce  ; 
secondly,  that  in  all  the  area  about  me  but  two 
persons  stood  ;  and  third,  that  of  these  two 
persons  one  of  them  was  masked  and  clad  in  a 
long  black  garment,  such  as  is  worn  at  mas- 
querade balls  under  the  name  of  a  domino. 
Struck  with  an  icy  chill,  I  looked  down  again. 
Why   had    I    allowed    myself    to    be    caught 


\ 


It- 

'if  t 

■i''. 


U^ 


.;u8 


I;  1  !   i 
illi'l 


Liii 


288 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


in  such  a  trap  ?  Why  had  I  not  followed  Mr. 
Nicholls  immediately  to  Boston  when  I  heard 
that  he  was  no  longer  in  town  ?  Or,  better 
still,  why  had  I  not  manufactured  for  myself  a 
safeguard  in  the  form  of  a  letter  to  that  gen- 
tleman, informing  him  of  the  important  docu- 
ment which  I  held,  and  the  danger  in  which  it 
possibly  stood  from  the  family  into  whose  toils 
I  had  now  fallen  ?  I  could  have  cursed  myself 
for  my  dereliction. 

"  David  Barrows,"  came  in  injperative  tones 
from  the  masked  figure,  "  will  you  tell  us 
where  this,  will  is  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  returned. 

"  Is  it  not  on  your  person  ?  "  the  inquisito- 
rial voice  pursued. 

"It  is  not,'  I  answered,  firmly,  thankful 
that  I  spoke  the  truth  in  this. 

"  It  is  in  your  rooms,  then  ;  in  your  desk, 
perhaps  ?  "  -  ' 

1  remained  silent. 

'*  Is  it  in  your  rooms  ? "  the  indomitable 
woman  proceeded. 

**  You  who  have  been  there  should  know,"  I 
replied,  feeling  my  courage  rise,  as  I  consid- 
ered that  they  could  not  assail  my  honor,  while 


The  Vat, 


289 


red  Mr. 
I  heard 
,  better 
lyself  a 
lat  gen- 
it  docu- 
i^hich  it 
se  toils 
myself 

e  tones 
tell    us 


quisito- 
lankful 
r  desk, 


nitable 

low,"  I 
consid- 
•,  while 


my  life  without  my  secret  would  benefit  them 
so  little  that  it  might  be  said  to  stand  in  no 
danger. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  the  icy  voice 
declared  ;  while  Guy,  stepping  forward,  plant- 
ed his  hand  firmly  on  my  shoulder  and  said  : 

"  Wherever  it  is,  it  shall  be  delivered  to  our 
keeping  to-night.  We  are  in  no  mood  for 
dallying.  Either  you  will  give  us  your  solemn 
promise  to  obtain  this  will,  and  hand  it  over  to 
us  without  delay  and  without  scandal,  or  the 
free  light  of  heaven  is  shut  out  from  you  for- 
ever.    You  shall  never  leave  this  mill." 

"  But,"  I  faltered,  striving  in  vain  to  throw 
off  the  incubus  of  horror  which  his  words  in- 
voked, '*what  good  would  my  death  do  you? 
Could  it  put  Mr.  Pollard's  will  in  your 
hands  ? " 

"Yes,"  was  the  brief  and  decided  reply, 
"if  it  is  anywhere  in  your  rooms." 

It  was  a  word  that  struck  home.  The  will 
was  in  my  rooms,  and  I  already  saw  it,  in  my 
imagination,  torn  from  its  hiding-place  by  the 
unscrupulous  haiid  that  held  me. 

Mastering  my  emotion  with  what  spirit  I 
could,  I  looked  quickly  about  me.     Was  there 


'A     V 


290 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


fe!il 


i;'f 


II 


!iii!' 


Ill 
ii   ^ 


no  means  of  escape  ?  I  saw  none.  In  the  re- 
mote and  solitary  place  which  they  had  chosen 
for  this  desperate  attempt,  a  cry  would  be  but 
waste  breath,  even  if  we  were  in  that  part  of 
the  mill  which  looked  toward  the  road.  But 
we  were  not ;  on  the  contrary,  I  could  see  by 
the  aid  of  the  faint  glimmer  which  the  lantern 
sent  forth,  that  the  room  in  which  we  had 
halted  was  as  far  as  possible  from  the  front 
of  the  building,  for  its  windows  were  obscured 
by  the  brush-wood  which  only  grew  against  the 
back  of  the  mill.  To  call  out,  then,  would  be 
folly,  while  to  seek  by  any  force  or  strategy 
to  break  away  from  the  two  relentless  beings 
that  controlled  me  could  only  end  in  failure, 
unless  darkness  would  come  to  my  aid  and 
hide  my  road  of  escape.  But  darkness  could 
only  come  by  the  extinguishing  of  the  lantern, 
and  that  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  effect ; 
for  I  was  not  strong  enough  to  struggle  in  its 
direction  with  Guy  Pollard,  nor  could  I  reach 
it  by  any  stretch  of  foot  or  hand.  The  light 
must  burn  and  I  must  stay  there,  unless — the 
thought  came  suddenly — I  could  take  advan- 
tage of  the  flight  of  steps  at  the  head  of  which 
I  stood,  and  by  a  sudden  leap,  gain  the  cellar, 


The  Vat, 


291 


he  re- 
hosen 
3e  but 
•art  of 
But 
;ee  by 
intern 
t  had 
front 
cured 
St  the 
lid  be 
ategy 
eings 
.ilure, 
[  and 
could 
itern, 
fifect ; 
in  its 
•each 
light 
—the 
Ivan- 
^hich 
sllar, 


where  I  would  stand  a  good  chance  of  losing 
myself  amid  intricacies  as  little  known  to  them 
as  to  myself.  But  to  do  this  I  must  be  free  to 
move,  and  there  was  no  shaking  myself  loose 
from  the  iron  clutch  that  held  me. 

"  You  see  you  are  in  our  power,"  hissed  the 
voice  of  the  woman  from  between  the  motion- 
less lips  of  her  black  mask. 

"I  see  I  am,"  I  acknowledged,  "but  I  also 
see  that  you  are  in  that  of  God."  And  I 
looked  severely  towards  her,  only  to  drop  my 
eyes  again  with  an  irrepressible  shudder. 

For,  lay  it  to  my  weakness  or  to  the  baleful 
influence  which  emanated  from  the  whole 
ghostly  place,  there  was  something  abso- 
lutely appalling  in  this  draped  and  masked 
figure  with  its  gleaming  eyes  and  cold,  thin 
voice.  • 

"  Shall  we  have  what  we  want  before  your 
death  or  after?"  proceeded  Guy  Pollard,  with 
a  calm  but  cold  ignoring  of  my  words  that  was 
more  threatening  than  any  rudeness. 

I  did  not  answer  at  first,  and  his  grip  upon 
me  tightened  ;  but  next  moment,  from  what 
motive  I  cannot  say,  it  somewhat  relaxed ; 
and,  startled  with  the  hope  of  freedom,  I  ex- 


292 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


{ I 


[,'U 


i'^    11  Hi! 

li 

i 

if  ' 

claimed  with  a  vehemence  for  which  my  for- 
mer speech  must  have  little  prepared  them  : 

**You  shall  not  have  it  at  all.  I  cannot 
break  my  word  with  your  father,  and  I  will 
not  stay  here  to  be  threatened  and  killed ; " 
and  making  a  sudden  movement,  I  slipped 
from  his  grasp,  and  plunged  down  the  steps 
into  the  darkness  below. 

But,  scarcely  had  my  feet  touched  the  cel- 
lar floor,  before  I  heard  the  warning  cry  shrill 
out  from  above  :  ,  . 

"  Take  care  !  There  is  an  open  vat  before 
you.  If  you  fall  into  that,  we  shall  be  free  of 
your  interference  without  lifting  a  hand." 

An  open  vat !  I  had  heard  of  the  vats  in 
the  old  mill's  cellar.  Instinctively  recoiling,  I 
stood  still,  not  knowing  whether  to  advance  or 
retreat.  At  the  same  moment  I  heard  the 
sound  of  steps  descending  the  stairs. 

"  So  you  think  this  a  better  place  for  deci- 
sion than  the  floor  above?"  exclaimed  Guy 
Pollard,  drawing  up  by  my  side.  "  Well,  I 
not  sure  but  you  are  right,"  he  added  ;  and  I 
saw  by  the  light  of  the  lantern  which  his  com- 
panion now  brought  down  the  stairs,  the  cold 
glimmer  of  a  smile  cross  his  thin  lips  and  shine 

■  ■   ■  \ 


The  Vat, 


293 


ly  for- 
im : 
:annot 

1  will 
lied ; " 
lipped 
:  steps 

le  cel- 
^  shrill 

before 
free  of 

^ats  in 
ling,  I 
nee  or 
•d  the 

deci- 
Guy 

\^\\  I 
and  I 
com- 

2  cold 
shine 

\ 


for  a  moment  from  his  implacable  eyes.  Not 
knowing  what  he  meant,  I  glanced  anxiously 
about,  and  shrank  with  dismay  as  I  discerned 
the  black  hole  of  the  vat  he  had  mentioned, 
yawning  within  three  feet  of  my  side.  Was  it 
a  dream,  my  presence  in  this  fearful  spot  ?  I 
looked  at  the  long  stretch  of  arches  before  me 
glooming  away  into  the  darkness  beyond  us, 
and  felt  the  chill  of  a  nameless  horror  settle 
upon  my  spirit. 

Was  it  because  I  knew  those  circles  of  black- 
ness held  many  another  such  pit  of  doom  as 
that  into  which  I  had  so  nearly  stumbled  ?  Or 
was  it  that  the  grisly  aspect  of  the  scene  woke 
within  me  that  slumbering  demon  of  the  imag- 
ination which  is  the  bane  of  natures  like  mine. 

Whatever  it  was,  I  felt  the  full  force  of  my 
position,  and  scarcely  cared  whether  my  voice 
trembled  or  not  as  I  replied  : 

"  You  surely  have  me  in  your  hands  ;  but 
that  does  not  mean  that  it  is  I  who  must  make 
a  decision.  If  I  understand  the  situation,  it  is 
for  you  to  say  whether  you  will  be  murderers 
or  not." 

"  Then  you  do  not  intend  to  put  us  in  pos- 
session of  my  father s  will?" 


'«;.! 


294 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


**  No,"  I  murmured,  and  bowed  my  head  for 
the  blow  I  expected  from  him. 

But  he  dealt  me  no  blow.  Instead  of  that 
he  eyed  me  with  a  look  which  grew  more  and 
more  sinister  as  I  met  his  glance  with  one 
which  I  meant  should  convey  my  indomitable 
resolution.     At  last  he  spoke  again  : 

*'  I  think  you  will  reconsider  your  determi- 
nation," said  he,  with  a  meaning  I  did  not  even 
then  fathom,  and  exchanging  a  quick  glance 
with  the  silent  figure  at  his  right,  he  leaned  to- 
wards me  and — what  happened  ?  For  a  mo- 
ment I  could  not  tell,  but  soon,  only  too  soon, 
I  recognized  by  my  stunned  and  bleeding  body, 
by  the  closeness  of  the  air  I  suddenly  breathed, 
and  by  the  circle  of  darkness  that  shut  about 
me,  and  the  still  more  distinct  circle  of  light 
that  glimmered  above,  that  I  had  been  pushed 
into  the  pit  whose  yawning  mouth  had  but  a 
few  Jihort  moments  before  awakened  in  me 
such  dismay. 

Aghast,  almost  mad  with  the  horror  of  a  fate 
so  much  more  terrible  than  any  I  had  an- 
ticipated, I  strove  to  utter  a  cry ;  but  my 
tongue  refused  its  office,  and  nothing  but  an 
inarticulate  murmur  rose  from  my  lips.    It  was 

.   \ 


The  Vat, 


295 


;ad  for 

of  that 
re  and 
th  one 
nitable 

etermi- 

ot  even 

glance 

ned  to- 

r  a  mo- 

3  soon, 

y  body, 
_>         • 

eathed, 

about 

3f  light 

pushed 

but  a 

in  me 

f  a  fate 
ad  an- 
lut  my 
but  an 
It  was 

.  \ 


not  piercing  enough  to  clear  the  edge  of  the 
vat,  and  my  soul  sunk  with  despair  as  I  heard 
its  fruitless  gurgle  and  realized  by  the  sound  of 
departing  steps,  and  the  faint  and  fainter  glim- 
mer of  the  circle  of  light  which  at  my  first 
glance  had  shone  quite  brightly  above  my 
hideous  prison-house,  that  my  persecutors  had 
done  their  worst  and  were  now  leaving  me 
alone  in  my  trap  to  perish. 

God  !  what  an  instant  it  was  !  To  speak, 
to  shriek,  to  call,  nay  plead  for  aid,  was  but 
the  natural  outcome  of  the  overwhelming 
anguish  I  felt,  but  the  sound  of  steps  had  died 
out  into  an  awful  stillness,  and  the  glimmering 
circle  upon  which  my  staring  eyes  were  fixed 
had  faded  into  a  darkness  so  utter  and  com- 
plete, that  had  the  earth  been  piled  above  my 
head,  I  could  not  have  been  more  wholly  hid- 
den from  the  light. 

I  had  fallen  on  my  knees,  and  desperate  as 
I  was,  had  made  no  attempt  to  rise.  Not 
that  I  thought  of  prayer,  unless  my  whole 
dazed  and  horrified  being  was  a  prayer.  The  con- 
solations which  I  had  offered  to  others  did  not 
seem  to  meet  this  case.  Here  was  no  death  in 
the  presence  of  friends  and  under  the  free  light 


6' 

% 


''\. 


it 


I 


! 


Sf « 


'ill 


296 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


of  heaven.  This  was  a  horror.  The  hand  of 
God  which  could  reach  every  other  mortal, 
whatever  their  danger  or  doom,  seemed  to 
stop  short  at  this  gate  of  hell.  I  could  not 
even  imagine  my  soul  escaping  thence.  !  was 
buried  ;  body  and  soul,  I  was  buried  and  yet  I 
was  alive  and  knew  that  I  must  remain  alive 
for  days  if  not  for  weeks. 

I  do  not  suppose  that  I  remained  in  this 
frightful  condition  of  absolute  hopelessness  for 
more  than  five  minutes,  but  it  seemed  to  me  an 
eternity.  If  a  drowning  man  can  review  his 
life  in  an  instant,  what  was  there  not  left  for 
me  to  think  and  suffer  in  the  lapse  of  those  five 
horrible  minutes  ?  I  was  young  when  the  un- 
scrupulous hand  of  this  daring  murderer  pushed 
me  into  this  pit ;  I  was  old  when  with  a  thrill  of 
joy  such  as  passes  over  the  body  but  once  in  a 
life-time,  I  heard  a  voice  issue  from  the  darkness, 
saying  severely,  "  David  Barrows,  are  you  pre- 
pared for  a  decision  now  ?  "  and  realized  that 
like  the  light  which  now  sprang  into  full  bril- 
liance above  my  head,  hope  had  come  again 
into  my  life,  and  that  I  had  to  speak  but 
a  dozen  words  to  have  sunshine  and  liberty 
restored  to  me. 


\ 


m 


The  VaL 


297 


The  rush  of  emotion  which  this  startling 
change  brought  was  almost  too  much  for  my 
reason.  Looking  up  into  the  sardonic  face,  I 
could  now  discern  peering  over  the  edge  of 
the  vat,  I  asked  with  a  frantic  impulse  that  left 
rie  no  time  for  thought,  if  an  immediate  resto- 
ration to  freedom  would  follow  my  compliance 
with  his  wishes,  and  when  he  answered  :  *' Yes," 
I  beheld  such  a  vision  of  sunshiny  fields  and  a 
happy,  love-lighted  home,  that  my  voice  al- 
most choked  as  I  responded,  that  I  did  not 
think  his  father  would  have  wished  me  to 
sacrifice  my  life  or  force  a  son  of  his  into  the 
crime  of  murder,  for  the  sake  of  any  repara- 
tion which  money  could  offer.  And  as  I  saw 
the  face  above  me  grow  impatient,  I  told  in 
desperate  haste  where  I  had  concealed  the  will 
and  how  it  could  be  obtained  without  arousing 
the  suspicions  of  my  neighbors. 

He  seemed  satisfied  and  hastily  withdrew 
his  face  ;  but  soon  returned  and  asked  for  the 
key  of  my  house.  I  had  it  in  my  pocket  and 
hurriedly  pitched  it  up  to  him,  when  he  again 
disappeared. 

"  When  shall  I  be  released  ? "  I  anxiously 
called  out  after  him. 


Pl 


41!  1. 


S-; 


\     '•> 


!i' 


298 


TAe  Mill  Mystery. 


But  no  answer  came  back,  and  presently  the 
light  began  to  fade  as  before,  and  the  sound  of 
steps  grow  fainter  and  fainter  till  sil'^^nce  and 
darkness  again  settled  upon  n.y  dreadful 
prison-house. 

But  this  time  I  had  hope  to  brighten  me, 
and  shutting  my  eyes,  I  waited  patiently.  But 
at  last,  as  no  change  came  and  the  silence  and 
darkness  remained  unbroken,  I  became  vio- 
lently alarmed  and  cried  to  myself  :  "  Am  I 
the  victim  of  their  treachery  ?  Have  they 
obtained  what  they  want  and  now  am  I  to 
be  left  here  to  perish  ? " 

The  thought  made  my  hair  stand  on  end 
and  had  I  not  been  a  God-fearing  man  I 
should  certainly  have  raised  my  voice  in 
curses  upon  my  credulity  and  lack  of  cour- 
age. But  before  my  passion  could  reach  its 
height,  hope  shone  again  in  the  shape  of  re- 
turning light.  Some  one  had  entered  the  cellar 
and  drawn  near  the  edge  of  the  vat ;  but  though 
I  strained  my  gaze  upward,  no  face  met  my 
view,  and  presently  I  heard  a  voice  which  was 
not  that  of  Guy  Pollard  utter  in  tones  of  sur- 
prise and  apprehension  : 

"  Where  is  the  clergyman  ?  Guy  said  I 
should  find  him  here  in  good  condition  ?  " 


The  Vat, 


299 


The  masked  figure,  who  was  doubtless  the 
one  addressed,  must  have  answered  with  a 
gesture  towards  the  hole  in  which  I  lay,  for  I 
heard  him  give  vent  to  a  horrified  exclamation 
and  then  say  in  accents  of  regret  and  shame  : 
"Was  it  necessary?"  and  afterwards:  "Are 
you  sure  he  is  not  injured  ?  " 

The  answer,  which  I  did  not  hear,  seemed 
to  satisfy  him,  for  he  said  no  more,  and  soon, 
too  soon,  walked  away  again,  carrying  the 
light  and  leaving  me,  as  I  now  knew,  with 
that  ominous  black  figure  for  my  watch  and 
guardian, — a  horror  that  lent  a  double  dark- 
ness to  the  situation  which  was  only  relieved 
now  by  the  thought  that  Dwight  Pollard's  hu- 
manity was  to  be  relied  on,  and  that  he  would 
never  wantonly  leave  me  there  to  perish  after 
the  will  had  been  discovered  and  destroyed. 

It  was  well  that  I  had  this  confidence,  for 
the  time  I  now  had  to  wait  was  long.  But 
I  lived  it  through  and  at  last  had  the  joy  of 
hearing  footsteps  and  the  voice  of  Guy  saying 
in  a  dry  and  satisfied  tone: :  '*  It  is  all  right,"  after 
which  the  face  of  Dwight  looked  over  the  edje 
of  the  vat  and  he  gave  me  the  help  which  was 
needed  to  lift  me  out. 

I  was  a  free  man  again.     I  had  slipped  from 


ii 


!7:^ 

1 J  f 

■ 

■  1 
1 

f  hIH 

1 
1 

300 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery, 


the  gates  of  hell,  and  the  world  with  all  its 
joys  and  duties  lay  before  me  bright  and  beau- 
tiful as  love  and  hope  could  make  it.  Yet 
whether  it  was  the  gloom  of  the  cellar  in 
which  we  still  lingered,  or  the  baleful  influ- 
ence that  emanated  from  the  three  persons  in 
whose  presence  I  once  more  stood,  I  felt  a 
strange  sinking  at  my  heart  and  found  myself 
looking  back  at  the  pit  from  which  I  had  just 
escaped,  with  a  sensation  of  remorse,  as  if  in 
its  horrid  depths  I  had  left  or  lost  something 
which  must  create  a  void  within  me  forever. 

My  meditations  in  this  regard  were  inter- 
rupted by  the  voice  of  Guy. 

"  David  Barrows,"  said  he,  "  we  hold  the 
paper  which  was  given  you  by  my  father." 

I  bowed  with  a  slight  intimation  of  impa- 
tience. 

"  We  have  looked  at  it  and  it  is  as  he  said, 
his  will.  But  it  is  not  such  a  one  as  we  feared, 
and  to-morrow,  or  as  soon  as  we  can  restore 
the  seal,  we  shall  return  it  to  you  for  such  dis- 
position as  your  judgment  suggests." 

I  stared  at  him  in  an  amazement  that  made 
me  forget  my  shame. 

"  You  will  give  it  back  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"  To-morrow,"  he  laconically  replied. 


XXII. 

THE    CYPHER. 

Ah,  my  false  heart,  what  hast  thou  done  ? 

THIS  is  a  story  of  fact ;  it  is  also  a  story 
of  mental  struggle.  I  shall  not,  there- 
fore, be  considered  too  diffuse  if  I  say  that  this 
unlooked-for  ending  to  my  unhappy  adventure 
threw  me  into  a  strange  turmoil  of  feeling, 
from  which  I  had  no  rest  until  the  next  day 
came.  That  they  should  promise  to  restore 
the  will,  to  obtain  which  they  had  resorted  to 
measures  almost  criminal  in  their  severity, 
awoke  in  me  the  greatest  astonishment. 
What  could  it  mean  ?  I  waited  to  see  the 
will  before  replying. 

It  came,  as  Guy  Pollard  had  promised,  at 
noon  of  the  following  day.  It  was  in  a  new 
envelope,  and  was  sealed  just  as  it  had  been 
before  it  left  my  possession.  Had  I  not 
knowr*  into,  what  unscrupulous  hands  it  had 

301 


m 


M 


I*    i 


j[» 


m» 


i 


,1 1 

lii 


302 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


fallen,  I  should  have  doubted  if  it  had  ever 
been  opened.  As  it  was,  I  was  not  only  con- 
fident that  it  had  been  read  from  end  to  end, 
but  fearful  that  it  had  been  tampered  with,  and 
perhaps  altered.  To  get  it  out  of  my  hands, 
and  if  possible,  my  mind  also,  I  carried  it  at 
once  to  Mr.  Nicholls,  who,  I  had  ascertained 
that  morning,  had  returned  to  town  the  day 
before.  ' 

He  received  me  with  affability,  but  looked  a 
little  surprised  when  he  learned  my  errand. 

'*  I  was  just  going  to  call  on  the  family," 
said  he ;  "I  drew  up  Mr.  Pollard's  will  myself, 
and " 

**  You  drew  up  Mr.  Pollard's  will  ?"  I  hastily 
interrupted.  "  You  know,  then,  its  contents, 
and  can  tell  me " 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  as  hastily  put  in,  "  the 
family  have  the  first  right  to  a  knowledge  of 
what  Mr.  Pollard  has  done  for  them." 

I  felt  myself  at  a  loss.  To  explain  my  rights 
and  the  great  desire  which  I  experienced  to 
ascertain  whether  the  tenor  of  the  paper  he 
now  held  coincided  with  that  which  he  had 
submitted  to  Mr.  Pollard  for  his  signature, 
necessitated  a  full  relation  of  facts  which  I  was 


The  Cypher, 


303 


not  yet  certain  ought  to  be  made  public.  For 
if  the  will  had  not  been  meddled  with,  and  Mr. 
Pollard's  wishes  stood  in  no  .danger  of  being 
slighted  or  ignored,  what  else  but  a  most  un- 
happy scandal  could  accrue  from  the  revela- 
tion which  I  should  be  forced  to  make  ?  Then, 
my  own  part  in  the  miserable  affair.  If  not 
productive  of  actual  evil,  it  was  still  something 
to  blush  for,  and  I  had  not  yet  reached  that 
stage  of  repentance  or  humility  which  made  it 
easy  to  show  the  world  a  weakness  for  which 
I  had  no  pity  nor  sympathy  myself.  Yet  to 
guard  the  interests  with  which  I  had  been  en- 
trusted, it  was  absolutely  necessary  that  the 
question  which  so  much  disturbed  me  should 
be  answered.  For,  if  any  change  had  been 
made  in  this  important  paper  by  which  the 
disposition  of  Mr.  Pollard's  property  should  be 
turned  aside  from  the  channel  in  which  he  had 
ordered  it,  I  felt  that  no  consideration  for  the 
public  welfare  or  my  own  good  fame  should 
hinder  me  from  challenging  its  validity. 

My  embarrassment  evidently  showed  itself, 
for  the  acute  lawyer,  after  a  momentary  scru- 
tiny of  my  face,  remarked  : 

**  You  say  Mr.  Pollard  gave  you  this  will  to 


F 

II; 


1^ 
If  I 


I 


'      ulii 


'J«l 

1 

:           1 

j 

1 

ii 

1  1 

IS' 11  < 

1 

MMi^ 

i 

1 

304 


Tke  Mill  Mystery. 


hand  to  me.  Do  you  know  the  cause  of  this 
rather  extraordinary  proceeding,  or  have  you 
any  suspicion  why,  in  the  event  of  his  desiring 
me  to  have  in  charge  a  paper  which  ought  to 
be  safe  enough  in  his  own  house,  he  choose 
his  pastor  for  his  messenger  instead  of  one  of 
his  own  sons  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Nicholls,"  I  returned,  with  inward 
satisfaction  for  the  opportunity  thus  given  me 
for  reply,  **  the  secrets  which  are  confided  to  a 
clergyman  are  as  sacred  as  those  which  are  en- 
trusted to  a  lawyer.  I  could  not  tell  you  my 
suspicions  if  I  had  any  ;  I  can  only  state  the 
facts.  One  thing,  however,  I  will  add.  That 
owing  to  circumstances  which  I  cannot  explain, 
but  greatly  regret,  this  paper  has  been  out  of 
my  hands  for  a  short  time,  and  in  speaking  as 
I  did,  I  wished  merely  to  state  that  it  would 
be  a  satisfaction  to  me  to  know  that  no  harm 
has  befallen  it,  and  that  this  is  the  very  will  in 
spirit  and  detail  which  you  drew  up  and  saw 
signed  by  Mr.  Pollard." 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  the  lawyer,  "  if  that  is  all, 
I  can  soon  satisfy  you."  And  tearing  open 
the  envelope,  he  ran  his  eye  over  the  document 
and  quietly  nodded. 


The  Cypher, 


30s 


**  It  is  the  same,"  he  declared.  "  There  has 
been  no  meddling  here." 

And  feeling  myself  greatly  relieved,  I  rose 
without  further  conversation  and  hastily  took 
my  leave. 

But  when  I  came  to  think  of  it  all'  again  in 
my  own  room,  I  found  my  equanimity  was  not 
yet  fully  restored.  A  doubt  of  some  kind  re- 
mained, and  though,  in  consideration  of  the 
manifold  duties  that  pressed  upon  me,  I  re- 
lentlessly put  it  asic^e,  I  could  not  help  its 
lingering  in  my  mind,  darkening  my  pleasures, 
and  throwing  a  cloud  over  my  work  and  the 
operations  of  my  mind.  The  sight  which  I 
now  and  then  caught  of  the  Pollards  did  not 
tend  to  allay  my  anxieties.  There  was  satis- 
faction in  their  countenances,  and  in  that  of 
Guy,  at  least,  a  certain  triumphant  disdain 
which  could  only  be  partly  explained  by  the 
victory  which  he  had  won  over  me  through 
my  fears.  I  awaited  the  proving  of  the  will 
with  anxiety.  If  there  were  no  seeming  repara- 
tion made  in  it,  I  should  certainly  doubt  its 
being  the  expression  of  Mr.  Pollard's  wishes. 

What  was  my  surprise,  then,  when  the  will 
having  been  proved,  I  obtained  permission  to 


'  ^f^ 


■I  ■ 

'a 


'I; 


I 


'I? 


i 


306 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


read  it  and  found  that  it  not  only  contained 
mention  of  reparation,  but  that  this  reparation 
was  to  be  made  to  Margaret  his  wife. 

"  For  sums  loaned  by  her  to  me  and  lost,  I 
desire  to  make  reparation  by  an  added  be- 
quest   "  so  it  read  ;  and   I   found  myself 

nonplussed  and  thrown  entirely  out  in  all  my 
calculations  and  conjectures.  The  anxiety  he 
had  shown  lest  the  will  should  fall  into  this 
very  woman's  hands,  did  not  tally  with  this 
expression  of  justice  and  generosity,  nor  did 
the  large  sums  which  he  had  left  to  his  three 
children  show  any  of  that  distrust  which  his 
countenance  had  betrayed  towards  the  one 
who  was  present  with  him  at  the  time  of  his 
death.  Could  it  be  that  he  had  given  me  the 
wrong  paper  or  was  he,  as  Mrs.  Pollard  had 
intimated,  not  responsible  for  his  actions  and 
language  at  that  time.  I  began  to  think  the 
latter  conjecture  might  be  true,  and  was  only 
hindered  in  the  enjoyment  of  my  old  tran- 
quillity by  the  remembr:ince  of  the  fearful 
ordeal  I  had  been  subjected  to  in  the  mill,  and 
the  consideration  which  it  brought  of  the  fears 
and  suspicions  which  must  have  existed  to  make 
the  perpetration  of  such  an  outrage  possible. 


:i^f:3t^ 


The  Cypher. 


307 


itained 
aration 

lost,  I 
ed  be- 
myself 
all  my 
iety  he 
to  this 
ith  this 
lor  did 
s  three 
lich  his 
tie   one 

of  his 
me  the 
rd  had 
>ns  and 
ink  the 
is  only 
d  tran- 

fearful 

ill,  and 
le  fears 
:o  make 
ssible. 


But  time,  which  dulls  all  things,  soon  began 
to  affect  my  memory  of  that  hideous  night- 
mare, and  with  it  my  anxiety  lest  in  my  un- 
faithfulness to  my  trust,  I  had  committed  a 
wrong  upon  some  unknown  innocent.  Life 
with  its  duties  and  love  with  its  speedy  pros- 
pect of  marriage  gradually  pushed  all  un- 
pleasant thoughts  from  my  mind,  and  I  was 
beginning  to  enjoy  the  full  savor  of  my 
happy  and  honorable  position  again,  when 
my  serenity  was  again,  and  thio  time  forever, 
destroyed  by  a  certain  revelation  that  was 
accidentally  made  to  me. 

The  story  of  it  was  this.  I  had  taken  by 
mistake  with  me  to  a  funeral  the  prayer-book 
with  which  Mr.  Pollard  had  presented  me.  I 
was  listening  to  the  anthem  which  was  being 
sung,  and  being  in  a  nervous  frame  of  mind, 
was  restlessly  fingering  the  leaves  of  the  book 
which  I  held  in  my  hand,  when  my  eye,  run- 
ning over  the  page  that  happened  to  open 
before  me,  caught  sight  of  some  of  the  marks 
with  which  the  text  was  plentifully  bestowe  1. 
Mechanically  I  noticed  the  words  under  which 
they  stood,  and  mechanically  I  began  reading 
them,   when,    to   my  great  astonishment    and 


i 


it 


ii 


,<^'f 


1 1 


308 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


w 


iiil 


subsequent  dismay,  I  perceived  they  made 
sense,  in  short  had  a  connection  which,  when 
carried  on  from  page  to  page  of  the  book,  re- 
vealed sentences  which    promised    to   extend 


^ 


I 


lip 


t   ! 


& 


with  haste,  and  found  Mary 
and  Joseph,  and  tlio  babe 
lyinff  in  a  manger.  And 
wlicn  they  had  seen  it.  tlicy 
made  known  abroad  the 
saying  which  waa  tolcl  them 
concerning  this  child.  And 
all  they  that  hoard  it  won- 
dered at  those  thingo  which 
were  told  them  by  the 
shepherds.  But  Mary  l:cpt 
all  these  thingo.  and  pon- 
dered them  in  her  hcait. 
And  the  shephcrdo  return- 
ed, glorifying  and  prnlcin^ 
God  for  all  the  thliira  th.it 
they  had  he.ird  ancl  cccn, 
as  it  was  told  unto  them. 
And  when  olgJjt  dayo  v/cro 
accomplished  for  the  cir- 
cumcising of  the  child.  Iiia 
name  was  called  JESU8, 
whldi  was  so  named  of  the 
an/;el  before  he  waa  con- 
ceived in  the  womb. 

^  r»#  %nm$  CdRtet,  Eptilh,  and 
Oo§pel  ihnB  ttna /i>r  trary  dag 
<\fttr,  nnto  '•he  Epipkauij, 

37itf  Epxphany, 

Or  (hi  Xanifetlnllon  iff  Ohrlit 
to  till  OeulCn, 

THE  OOLtEOV. 

f\  qOD.  who  by  tho  lead- 
^^  ing  of  j^  star  didst 
manifest  thy  only-begottou 
Son  to  the  Gentiles ;  Mor- 
J'i  fully  grant  that  we,  who 
know  theo  now  by  &lth. 
majr  after  this  life  Lave  Oie 
fruition  of  thy  glorious  Ood- 
nead ;  throug)<  Jesus  Clirlst 
our  Lord.  Atiurit. 


THE  EPIPHANT.  81 

THE  EFISTIE.    Bpb.UI.I 

FOR  this  cause,  I  Pawl, 
the   nri.'oncr  of  Jesus 


-^ 


Christ  for  you  Gentiles ;  if 
yo  have  heard  of  Iho  ais- 
pcnsation  of  Uio  grace  of 
God,  which  is  given  mo  to 
you-ward :  How  that  by 
rovfl.i.f.inn  he  madO  IlIlCUUl 


unto  mo  tho  mystery  (as  I 
v.Toto  aforo  in.  fc\y  words. 
whereby,  when  jx  read,  ye 
may  undorstand  my  know- 
IcJj^o  m  ^.hc  invstcrv  of 
Christ)  v.'hTch  in  otlior  ages 
wpi  not  Hiaoc  knowp  nii^p 
fjia  ronn  of  men,  as  it  is 
now  revealed  unto  his  holy 
Apoatlca  and  Prophets  by 
tho  Spirit;  that  the  Gen- 
tiles Giiould  be  fellow-bciry 
and  o£.  tho  same  body,  and 
partaFcrs  of  his  promise 
in  Christ,  by  the  Gospel: 
whereof  I  was  made  a  min- 
ister, according  to  tho  gift 


of  tho  guu£  of  God  given 
unto  me  bv  tho  offeclual 
working  of  liis  power.   Un- 


to mo,  who  am  less  than 
tho  Uast  of  all  saints,  is 
this  gi-aco  given,  that  I 
should  prcacli  among  tho 
Gentllos  tho  unsearchable 
riches  of  airier ;  and  to 
mako  all  men  see  what  is 
the  fellowship  of  the  mys- 
tery, which  ft-oin  tho  De- 
pinning  of  the  world  hath 
been  hid  In  God,  who  cre- 
ated all  things  by  Jesus 
Christ,  to  tho  Intont  that 
now  nnto  tho  principalities 
and    powers    in    heavenly 


•» 


t 


themselves  into  a  complete  communication. 
This  is  the  page  I  happened  upon,  with  its 
lines  and  dots.  Note  the  result  which  accrues 
from  reading  the  marked  words  alone.    . 

V 


The  Cypher, 


309 


ation. 
th  its 
:crues 


It  was  but  one  of  many;  and  you  can  imagine 
how  difficult  I  found  it  to  continue  with  the 
service  and  put  the  subject  from  my  mind  till 
the  funeral  was  over  and  I  could  return  to  soli- 
tude and  my  third  and  final  examination  into 
the  meaning  of  this  mysterious  gift. 

You  can  also  imagine  my  wonder  when  by 
following  out  the  plan  I  have  indicated,  the 
subjoined  sentences  appeared,  which,  if  some- 
what incoherent  at  times — as  could  only  be 
expected  from  the  limited  means  at  his  com- 
mand— certainly  convey  a  decided  meaning, 
especially  after  receiving  the  punctuation  and 
capital  letters,  which,  after  long  study  and 
some  after-knowledge  of  affairs,  I  have  ven- 
tured upon  giving  them  : 

"  My  sin  is  ever  before  me. 

"  Correct,  lest  thou  bring  me  to  nothing. 

"  Do  those  things  which  are  requisite  and 
necessary  for  a  pure  and  humble  one,  Grace 
by  name,  begotten  by  son,  he  born  of  first  wife 
and  not  obedient  to  the  law  abroad,  a  prisoner. 

*'  Revelation  made  known  in  few  words 
whereby  when  ye  read  ye  may  understand  the 
mystery  which  was  made  known  unto  the 
sons,  fellow-heirs  of  Grace. 


m 


I 

I 
11 


m 


m 


» 


fff 


310 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


I 


i 


i  ■     .  tSi 


"  Go  and  search  diligently  for  the  young 
child. 

**  The  higher  powers  resist  and  are  a  terror 
to  good  works. 

"  Do  that  which  is  good  and  thou  shalt  have 
praise,  minister  of  God. 

"  Wherefore  ye  must  needs  be  subject  for 
wrath,  for  they  are  attending  continually  upon 
this  thing. 

"  Render  therefore  to  all  their  dues  ;  tribute 
to  whom  tribute  ;  honor  to  whom  honor. 

"  Two  possessed  of  devils,  exceeding  fierce 
of  the  household,  hope  Grace  may  evermore 
be  cast  away. 

"  They  murmur  against  the  good  man  of  the 
house,  and  do  not  agree  to  mercifully  defend 
against  perils  in  the  city  an  honest  and  good 
heart. 

''  My  will  leave(s)  heritage  to  Grace. 

**  The  devil  is  against  me. 

"  Behold  a  woman  grievously  vexed  with  lost 
sheep  of  the  house. 

"  Then  came  she,  saying  :  '  It  is  not  mete  to 
take  the  children's  bread  and  to  cast  it  to  the 
dogs.  Be  unto  us  an  offering  named  as  be- 
cometh  saints.     For  this  ye  know,  that  no  un- 


The  Cypher, 


311 


oung 

;error 

have 

:t  for 
upon 

ribute 

fierce 
rmore 

of  the 
lefend 
good 


th  lost 

ete  to 

to  the 

as  be- 

Ho  un- 


clean  person  hath  any  inheritance  because  of 
disobedience  and  fellowship  with  works  of 
darkness.  For  it  is  a  shame  to  speak  of  those 
things  which  are  done  of  them  in  secret* 

"  Beelzebub,  the  chief  of  devils,  and  sons  cast 
out  man ;  taketh  from  him  all  wherein  he 
trusteth  and  divideth  the  spoils  against  me. 

"  To  purge  conscience,  the  new  testament 
means  redemption  of  the  transgressions  under 
first  testament. 

"  Said  a  devil  :  '  Father,  ye  do  dishonor  me. 
Say  ye  know  him  not,  thy  son,  and  suffer  that 
a  notable  prisoner,  his  wife  and  child,  were  not 
called  by  thy  name.'  '  I  will,'  said  I.  But  I 
deny  all  here.  My  soul  is  sorrowful  unto 
death,  as  I  bear  false  witness  against  them. 

"  The  hand  that  betrayeth  me  is  with  me. 

"  I  appoint  you  to  sift  as  wheat. 

"  This  must  be  accomplished,  for  the  things 
concerning  me  have  an  end. 

"Words  sent  unto  me  out  of  prison,  said: 
'  Daughter  weep(s).  Beseech  thee  graciously 
to  fetch  home  to  thee  my  child  in  tribulation. 
For  lo,  the  ungodly  bend  their  bow  and  make 


ready  their  arrows  within  th 
may  privily  shoot  at  them 


that  they 


%i 


i  1'* 

I  A 


e  quiver, 

which  are  true  of 


m 

m. 


I  i*wn  " 


I       ;ri 


312 


TAe  Mill  Mystery. 


heart.  Show  thy  marvellous  loving-kindness 
unto  an  undefiled  soul  forsaken  on  every  side 
of  mother  and  friendly  neighbors.  Make  haste 
to  deliver  and  save.  I  am  clean  forgotten,  as 
a  dead  man  out  of  mind.  I  am  become  as  a 
broken  vessel.* 

"  Whilst  I  held  my  tongue,  my  bones  con- 
sumed away  daily. 

"  I  will  inform  thee  and  teach  thee  in  the  way 
wherein  thou  shalt  go. 

"  Blessed  are  folk  chosen  to  inheritance  ;  the 
children  of  them  that  dwell  under  the  king. 

"  Poor  Grac(e)  come  over  the  see  (sea), 
unaware  that  I  were  sick. 

"  Deliver  m}^  darling  from  the  lions,  so  will  I 
give  thee  thanks. 

"  O  let  not  them  that  are  mine  enemies  tri- 
umph that  hate  me. 

"  They  imagine  deceitful  words  against  them 
that  are  quiet  in  the  land. 

"  Child  is  in  thy  land. 

'*  Look  after  daughter  among  honorable 
women.     House  in  City  of  the  East  Wind. 

*  "- C-H-A-R-L  E  S  S  T  R  E-ET. 

**  Child  I  have  looked  upon  not. 

*  Number  omitted  for  obvious  reasons. 


The  Cypher. 


313 


idness 
y  side 
haste 
en,  as 
\  as  a 

s  con- 

le  way 

^ ;  the 

(sea), 

will  I 


"I  promised  with  my  lips  and  spake  with  my 
mouth,  but  God  turned  his  mercy  upon  me, 
and  upon  health  hath  sent  forth  his  voice,  yea, 
and  that  a  mighty  voice. 

**  I  sink,  and  the  deep  waters  drown  me. 

'^  Mine  adversaries  hath  broken  my  heart. 

"  Let  the  things  that  should  have  been  for 
them  be  for  the  poor  prisoner's  posterity. 

"  Break  down  the  carved  work  and  search 
out  my  will. 

**  Walk  to  table  under  southwest  borders  of 
room,  take  the  wood  that  hath  in  it  operations 
of  the  law,  and  cleave, 

"  For  my  days  are  gone  like  a  shadow,  and 
I  am  withered  as  grass." 


es  tri- 
:them 


orable 
nd. 


^^"^ 


XXIII. 


TOO    LATE. 


What  fear  is  this,  which  startles  in  our  ears  ? 

— Romeo  and  Juliet. 

THE   conclusion  which  I  drew  from  these 
sentences   after  a  close   and    repeated 
perusal  of  them  was  to  this  effect : 

That  Mr.  Pollard  instead  of  possessing  only 
two  sons,  as  was  generally  supposed,  had  in 
reality  been  the  father  of  three.  That  the 
eldest,  born  in  all  probability  before  Mr.  Pol- 
lard's removal  to  this  country  (he  was  an 
Englishman  by  birth),  had,  by  some  act  of 
violence  or  fraud,  incurred  the  penalty  of  the 
law,  and  was  even  now  serving  out  a  term  of 
imprisonment  in  his  native  land.  That  this 
son  had  a  daughter  innocent  and  virtuous, 
whom  he  desired  to  commit  to  the  care  of  her 
grandfather ;  that  he  had  even  sent  her  over 
here  for  that  purpose,  but  that  Mr.  Pollard, 
taken  down  with  the  illness  which  afterwards 


Too  Late. 


315 


rUET. 

these 
leated 

\  only 
ad  in 
t  the 

Pol- 
las  an 
ct  of 
)f  the 

m  of 
t  this 
uous, 
f  her 
•  over 
>llard, 
wards 


ended  in  death,  had  not  only  failed  to  be  on 
hand  to  receive  her,  but  that,  surrounded  and 
watched  by  his  wife  and  sons,  who,  in  their 
selfish  pride,  were  determined  to  ignore  all 
claims  of  kinship  on  the  part  of  one  they 
despised,  he  had  not  even  had  the  chance  to 
take  such  measures  for  her  safety  and  happi- 
ness as  his  love  and  regard  for  her  lonely  and 
desolate  position  seemed  to  demand.  That 
the  will,  whose  concealment  in  his  desk  he  had 
managed  to  describe,  had  been  made  in  recom- 
pense for  this  neglect,  and  that  by  it  she  would 
receive  that  competence  and  acknowledgment 
of  her  rights  which  the  hatred  of  her  unscrupu- 
lous relatives  would  otherwise  deny  her. 

And  this  was  the  will  I  had  weakly  given 
up,  and  it  wps  upon  the  head  of  this  innocent 
child  that  the  results  of  my  weakness  must 
fall. 

When  I  first  recognized  this  fact  I  felt 
stupefied.  That  I,  David  Barrows,  should  be 
the  cause  of  misery  and  loss  to  a  guileless  and 
pure  soul !  I  could  not  realize  it,  nor  believe 
that  consequences  so  serious  and  irremediable 
could  follow  upon  an  act  into  which  I  had 
been  betrayed  by  mere  cowardice.     But  soon, 


\- 


3i6 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


m 


i 


;   |.:!i 


I  i 


too  soon,  the  matter  became  plain  to  me.  I 
saw  what  I  had  done  and  was  overwhelmed, 
for  I  could  no  longer  doubt  that  the  real  will 
had  been  destroyed  and  that  the  one  which 
had  been  returned  to  me  was  a  substituted 
one,  perhaps  the  very  same  which  I  had  seen 
among  the  papers  of  Mr.  Pollard's  desk. 

The  result  of  my  remorse  was  an  immediate 
determination  on  my  part  to  search  out  the 
young  girl,  left  in  this  ^  imarkable  manner  to 
my  care,  and  by  my  eflorts  in  her  behalf  do 
what  I  could  to  remedy  the  great  evil  which, 
through  my  instrumentality,  had  befallen  her. 

The  purpose  was  no  sooner  taken  than  I 

prepared  to  carry  it  out.     S could  hold 

no  duty  for  me  now  paramount  to  this.  I  was 
a  father  and  my  child  lingered  solitary  and 
uncared-for  in  a  strange  place.  I  took  the  first 
train  the  next  morning  for  the  '*  city  of  the 
east-wind." 

The  hour  at  which  I  arrived  at  number — 
Charles  Street,  was  one  of  deep  agitation  to 
me,  !  had  thought  so  continually  upon  my 
journey  of  the  young  waif  I  was  seeking. 
Would  she  be  the  embodiment  of  ingenuous- 
ness which  her  grandfather  had  evidently  be- 


Too  Late, 


l^^l 


lieved  her  to  be  ?  Should  I  find  her  forgiving 
and  tractable  ;  or  Avere  the  expectations  I  had 
formed  false  in  their  character  and  founded 
rather  upon  Mr.  Pollard's  wishes  than  any 
knowledge  he  had  of  her  disposition  and  ac- 
quirements ? 

The  house  was,  as  far  as  I  could  judge  from 
the  exterior,  of  a  most  respectable  character, 
and  the  lady  who  answered  my  somewhat  im- 
patient summons  was  one  of  those  neat,  and 
intelligent-looking  persons  who  inspire  confi- 
dence at  first  glance.  To  my  inquiries  as  to 
whether  there  was  living  in  her  house  a  young 
English  lady  by  the  name  of  Grace — I  did 
not  like  to  venture  upon  that  of  Pollard,  there 
being  some  phrases  in  the  communication  I 
have  shown  you  which  led  me  to  think  that 
Mr.  Pollard  had  changed  his  name  on  cominof 
to  this  country, — she  gave  me  a  look  of  such 
trouble  and  anxiety  that  I  was  instantly  struck 
with  dismay. 

"  Miss  Merriam  ?  "  she  exclaimed  ;  then,  as 
I  bowed  with  seeming  acquiescence,  continued 
In  a  tone  that  conveyed  still  more  disquiet 
than  her  face,  '*  She  zvas*  here  ;  but  she  is 
gone,  sir  ;  a  woman  took  her  away." 


\\ 


I 


b  • 


i 


'^rfT** 


*ll 


liMjHHf. 

B 

i 
i 

^^Hi^Kfl^^il| 

! 

Mi' 

..      1 

<    >     1 

■     1 

I! 


if  I 


1  ^  ^ 

M     i    ■ 

1      ■ 

i 

i  i 

ILk^.. 

318 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery. 


A  woman  !  I  must  have  grown  pale,  for  she 
swung  wide  the  door  and  asked  me  to  come  in. 

"  We  can  talk  better  in  the  hall,"  she  re- 
marked, and  pointed  to  a  chair  into  which  I 
half  fell. 

"  I  have  a  great  interest  in  this  young  lady," 
I  observed ;  "  in  short,  I  am  her  guardian. 
Can  you  tell  me  the  name  of  the  person  with 
whom  she  went  away,  or  where  she  can  be 
found  now  ?  " 

**  No  sir,"  she  answered,  with  the  same  ex- 
pression of  trouble.  "  The  woman  gave  us 
no  name  nor  address,  and  the  young  lady 
seemed  too  much  frightened  to  speak.  We 
have  felt  anxious  ever  since  she  went,  sir ;  for 
the  letter  she  showed  us  from  the  captain  of  the 
ship  which  brought  her  over,  told  us  to  take 
great  care  of  her.  We  did  not  know  she  had 
a  guardian  or  we  should  not  have  let  her  go. 
The  woman  seemed  very  pleasant,  and  paid 

all  the  bills,  but " 

\*/  But  what  ?  "  I  cried,  too  anxious  to  bear 
a  moment^s  delay. 

**  She  did  not  lift  her  veil,  and  this  seemed 
to  me  a  suspicious  circumstance." 

Torn  with  apprehension  and  doubt,  I  stag- 


gered to  my  feet. 


\ 


Too  Late, 


319 


>r  she 
nein. 
le  re- 
lich  I 

lady," 
rdian. 
1  with 
an  be 

Tie  ex- 
Lve  us 
y  lady 

We 

r;  for 

of  the 

o  take 

ne  had 

er  go. 

paid 

bear 

iemed 

stag- 


**  Tell  me  all  about  this  woman,  I  demanded. 
"  Give  me  every  detail  you  can  remember.  I 
have  a  dreadful  fear  that  it  is  some  one  who 
should  never  have  seen  this  child." 

"  Well,  sir,  she  came  at  about  eleven  in  the 


mornmg- 


M 


<<  Wh^t  day  ?  "  I  interrupted  her  to  ask. 

"  Thursday,"  she  replied,  ''a  week  ago  yes- 
terday." 

The  very  day  after  the  will  was  returned 
to  me.  If  she  were  the  woman  I  feared,  she 
had  evidently  lost  no  time. 

**  She  asked  for  Miss  Merriam,"  the  lady  be- 
fore me  pursued,  evidently  greatly  pitying  my 
distress,  "and  as  we  knew  no  reason  why  our 
young  boarder  should  not  receive  visitors, 
we  immedi^.-eiy  proceeded  to  call  her  down. 
But  the  woman,  with  a  muttered  excuse,  said 
she  would  not  trouble  us  ;  that  she  knew  the 
child  well,  and  would  go  right  up  to  her  room 
if  we  would  only  tell  her  where  it  was.  This 
we  did  and  should  have  thought  no  more' of 
the  matter,  if  in  a  little  while  she  had  not  re- 
appeared in  the  hall,  and,  inquiring  the  way  to 
my  room,  told  me  that  Miss  Merriam  had 
decided   to   leave   my   house ;    that   she   had 


^ 


I*l*f 


r* 


320 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


offered  her  a  home  with  her,  and  that  they 
were  to  go  immediately. 

*^  I  was  somewhat  taken  aback  by  this,  and 
inquired  if  I  could  not  see  Miss  Merriam. 
She  answered  '  What  for  ? '  and  when  I  hinted 
that  money  was  owing  me  for  her  board,  she 
drew  out  her  pocket-book  and  paid  me  on  the 
spot.  I  could  say  nothing  after  this,  '  But 
are  you  a  relative,  ma'am  ? '  to  which  her 
quick  and  angry  negative,  hidden,  however, 
next  moment,  by  a  suave  acknowledgment  of 
friendship,  gave  me  my  first  feeling  of  alarm. 
But  I  did  not  dare  to  ask  her  any  further 
questions,  much  as  I  desired  to  know  who  she 
was  and  where  she  was  going  to  take  the 
young  girl.  There  was  so'nething  in  her  man- 
ner that  overawed  me,  at  the  same  time  it 
filled  me  with  dread.  But  if  I  could  not  speak 
to  her  I  meant  to  have  some  words  with  Miss 
Merriam  before  she  left  the  house.  This  the 
woman  seemed  to  wish  to  prevent,  for  she 
stood  close  by  me  when  the  young  girl  came 
down,  aiid  when  I  stepped  forward  to  say 
good-by,  pushed  me  somewhat  rudely  aside 
and  took  Miss  Merriam  by  the  arm.  "  Come, 
my  dear/'  she  cried,  and  would  have  hurried 


Too  Late, 


321 


they 

,  and 
riam. 
inted 
i,  she 
n  the 
'But 
1   her 
vever, 
^nt  of 
alarm, 
urther 
10  she 
e   the 
man- 
me  it 
speak 
Miss 
lis  the 
ir   she 
came 
;o  say 
aside 
!ome, 
lurried 


her  out  without  a  word.  But  I  would  not 
have  that.  The  sorrow  and  perplexity  in 
Miss  Merriam's  face  were  too  marked  for  me 
to  let  her  depart  in  silence.  So  I  persisted  in 
speaking,  and  after  saying  how  sorry  I  was  to 
have  her  go,  asked  her  if  she  would  not  leave 
her  new  address  with  me  in  case  any  letters 
should  come  for  her.  Her  answer  was  a 
frightened  look  at  her  companion  who  imme- 
diately spoke  for  her.  '  I  have  told  you,'  said 
she,  'that  Miss  Merriam  goes  home  with  me. 
It  is  not  likely  she  will  have  any  letters,  but 
If  she  should,  you  can  send  them  to  the  place 
mvmtioned  on  this  card,'  and  she  pulled  a 
visiting  card  from  her  bag  and  gave  it  to  me, 
after  which  she  immediately  went  away,  drag- 
ging Miss  Merriam  after  her." 

"  And  you  have  that  card  ?  "  I  cried.  "  Why 
did  you  not  show  it  to  me  at  once  ?  " 

"•  O,  sir,"  she  responded  with  a  sorrowful 
shake  of  her  head,  "  it  was  a  fraud,  a  deception. 
The  card  was  not  hers  but  another  person's, 
and  its  owner  don't  even  know  Miss  Mer- 
riam." . 

"  How  do  you  know  this  ?  "  I  asked.  '*  Have 
you  seen  this,  other  person  ?  " 


V\ 


.t 


11 


!l:i 


322 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


"  Yes,  sir,  I  had  occasion  to,  for  a  letter  did 
come  for  Miss  Merriam  only  a  short  time  after 
she  left.  So  thinking  it  a  good  opportunity  to 
see  where  she  had  gone,  I  carried  it  to  the 
address  which  was  on  the  card  given  me,  and 
found  as  I  have  told  you  that  it  was  not  the 
same  lady  at  all  who  lived  there,  and  that  there 
was  not  only  no  Miss  Merriam  in  the  house 
but  that  her  name  was  not  even  known  there." 

"  And  you  saw  the  lady  herself  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  sir." 

"And  are  you  sure  it  was  aot'the  same  as 
the  one  who  was  here  ?  " 

**  Oh  yes  ;  she  was  short  and  stout  and  had  a 
frank  way  of  speaking,  totally  unlike  that  of  the 
veiled  woman." 

**  And  the  latter  ?  How  was  she  shaped  ? 
You  have  not  told  me." 

I  asked  this  in  trembling  tones.  Though  I 
was  sure  what  the  answer  would  be,  I  dreaded 
to  have  my  fears  confirmed. 

"  Well,  sir,  she  was  tall  and  had  a  full  com- 
manding figure,  very  handsome  to  look  at. 
She  was  dressed  all  in  gray  and  had  a  way  of 
holding  her  head  that  made  an  ordinary  sized 
woman  like  myself  feel  very  small  and  insignifi- 


Too  Late, 


323 


cant.  Yet  she  was  not  agreeable  in  her  appear- 
ance ;  and  I  am  sure  that  if  I  could  have  seen 
her  face  I  should  have  disliked  her  still  more, 
though  I  do  not  doubt  it  was  in  keeping  with 
her  figure,  and  very  handsome." 

I  could  have  no  doubts  as  to  whom  this 
described,  yet  I  made  one  final  effort  to  prove 
my  suspicions  false. 

**  You  have  given  me  the  description  of  a 
person  of  some  pretensions  to  gentility,"  I 
remarked,  *'  yet  from  the  first  you  have  forborne 
to  speak  of  her  as  a  lady." 

*'  An  involuntary  expression  of  my  distrust 
and  dislike  I  suppose.  Then  her  dress  was 
very  plain,  and  the  veil  she  wore  quite  com- 
mon." 

I  thought  of  the  dress  and  veil  which  my 
self-designated  *' sister"  had  worn  in  the  visit 
she  paid  to  my  rooms  and  wondered  if  they 
would  not  answer  to  the  description  of  these. 

"  What  was  the  color  of  her  veil  ?  "  I  inquired. 

**  Dark  blue." 

That  was  the  color  of  the  one  which  had 
been  worn  by  my  mysterious  visitor,  as  I  had 
found  from  subsequent  questions  put  to  my 
neighbor,  and  I  could  no  longer  have  the  least 


il 


324 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


i  •■ 

V. 

t      -        ■ 

uncertainty  as  to  who  the  woman  was  who  had 
carried  off  Mr.  Pollard's  grandchild.  Sick  at 
heart  and  fearing  I  scarcely  knew  what,  I  asked 
for  the  letter  which  had  been  left  for  Miss  Mer- 
riam,  and  receiving  it  from  the  hand  of  this 
amiable  woman  in  whom  I  appeared  to  have 
inspired  as  much  confidence  as  her  former  visi- 
tor had  alarm,  I  tore  it  open,  and  in  my  capacity 
of  guardian  read  what  it  contained.     Here  it  is : 

My  Dear  Miss  Merriam  : 

The  gentleman,  in  the  hope  of  whose  protection  you 
came  to  this  country,  is  dead.  I  am  his  son  and  naturally 
feel  it  incumbent  upon  me  to  look  after  your  interests.  I 
am  therefore,  coming  shortly  to  see  you  ;  but  till  I  do  so, 
remember  that  you  are  not  to  receive  any  one  who  may 
call,  no  matter  what  their  name,  sex,  or  apparent  busi- 
ness. If  you  disobey  me  in  this  regard  you  may  do 
yourself  a  permanent  injury.  Wait  till  my  card  is  brought 
you,  and  then  judge  for  yourself  whether  I  am  a  person 
in  whom  you  can  trust.  Hoping  to  find  you  in  good 
health,  and  as  happy  as  your  bereaved  condition  will 
admit  of,  I  remain  sincerely  yours, 

DwiGHT  Gaylord  Pollard. 

**  Ah,  he  wrote  a  day  too  late  !  "  I  involun- 
tarily exclaimed  ;  then  perceiving  the  look  of 
curiosity  which  this  unguarded  expression  had 
awakened  on  the  face  of  my  companion,  fold- 


Too  Late, 


325 


will 

LD. 

)lun- 
Ik  of 

had 
told- 


ed  the  letter  up  and  put  it  quietly  in  my 
pocket.  ''  It  is  an  unhappy  piece  of  business," 
I  now  observed,  **  but  I  shall  hope  to  6nd 
Miss  Merriam  very  soon,  and  place  her  where 
she  will  be  both  safe  and  happy." 

And  feeling  that  I  ought  to  know  something 
of  the  appearance  and  disposition  of  one  I  so 
fully  intended  to  befriend,  I  inquired  whether 
she  was  a  pretty  girl. 

The  reply  I  received  was  almost  enthusiastic. 

**  I  do  not  know  as  you  would  call  her 
pretty,  sir,  she  is  so  pale  and  fragile  ;  but  if 
her  features  are  not  regular  nor  her  color 
good,  she  has  something  unusually  attractive 
in  her  face,  and  I  have  heard  more  than  one 
gentleman  here  say,  *  Miss  Merriam  is  lovely. 

"•  And  her  manners  ?  " 

"  Very  modest,  sir,  and  timid.  She  seems 
to  have  a  secret  sorrow,  for  I  have  often  seen 
her  eyes  fill  when  she  thought  no  one  was 
looking  at  her." 

**  Do  you  know  her  history  or  connections  ?  " 

*'No,  sir." 

**  Then  she  never  talked  to  you  about  her- 
self ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  though  so  young,  she  was  strange- 


-  i 


PI 


n 


^■fls.v^^F' 

m  H 

1 1 

1  f  ^  '^ 

IHe 

J  ^P'^ 

326 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery, 


ly  like  a  woman  in  many  things.  An  uncom- 
monly sweet  child,  sir,  an  uncommonly  sweet 
child." 

I  felt  the  sting  of  a  great  reproach  in  my 
heart,  and,  anxious  to  hide  the  depth  of  my 
emotion,  rose  to  leave.  But  the  good  woman, 
detaining  me,  inquired  what  she  should  do 
with  Miss  Merriam's  trunk. 

''  What,"  I  exclaimed,  *'  is  that  still  here  ?" 

**  Yes,  sir  ;  she  took,  as  I  noticed,  a  bag  of 
some  size  with  her,  but  she  left  her  trunk.  In 
the  flurry  of  their  departure  I  forgot  to  speak 
about  it.  I  have  expected  an  expressman  after 
it  every  day,  but  none  has  come.  That  is  an- 
other reason  why  I  have  felt  anxious." 

*'  I  do  not  wonder,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Sometimes,"  she  observed,  **  I  have  thought 
it  was  my  duty  to  speak  to  the  police  about 
the  matter  ;  it  would  be  such  a  dreadful  thing 
if  any  harm  had  come  to  her." 

**  I  will  speak  to  the  police  if  necessary," 
said  I  And  determined  as  I  had  never  been 
before  in  my  life,  I  left  the  house  and  pro- 
ceeded directly  to  the  depot,  where  I  took  the 
first  train  for  S . 


icom- 
sweet 


n  my 
)f  my 
Dman, 
Id  do 

ere  r 
>ag  of 
c.  In 
speak 
1  after 
is  an- 


|ought 

labout 

thing 


It 


|sary, 

been 

pro- 

\k  the 


XXIV. 


CONFRONTED. 


^ 


Stop  up  the  access  and  passage  to  remorse  ; 
That  no  compunctious  visitings  of  nature 
Shake  my  fell  purpose,  nor  keep  peace  between 
The  effect  and  it !— Macbeth. 

BEING  in  the  confessional,  I  have  not  for- 
borne to  tell  the  worst  of  myself ;  I  will 
not,  therefore,  hesitate  to  tell  the  best.  When 
on  that  very  afternoon  I  entered  Mrs.  Pollard's 
grounds,  it  was  with  a  resolve  to  make  her 
speak  oucj  that  had  no  element  of  weakness  in 
it.  Not  her  severest  frown,  nor  that  diaboli- 
cal look  from  Guy's  eye,  which  had  hitherto 
made  me  quail,  should  serve  to  turn  me  aside 
from  my  purpose,  or  thwart  those  interests  of 
right  and  justice  which  I  felt  were  so  deeply 
at  stake.  If  my  own  attempt,  backed  by  the 
disclosures  which  had  come  to  me  through  the 
prayer-book  I  had  received  from  Mr.  Pollard, 
should  fail,  then  the  law  should  take  hold  of 

327 


11 


328 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


I 


the  matter  and  wrench  the  truth  from  this 
seemingly  respectable  family,  even  at  the  risk 
of  my  own  happiness  and  the  consideration 
which  I  had  always  enjoyed  in  this  town. 

The  house,  when  I  approached  it,  struck  me 
with  an  odd  sense  of  change.  I  did  not  stop 
at  the  time  to  inquire  why  this  was,  but  I  have 
since  concluded,  in  thinking  over  the  subject, 
that  the  parlor  curtains  must  have  been  drawn 
up,  something  which  I  do  not  remember  ever 
having  seen  there  before  or  since.  The  front 
door  also  was  ajar,  and  when  I  rang  the  bell  it 
was  so  speedily  answered  that  I  had  hardly  time 
to  summon  up  the  expression  of  determination 
which  I  felt  would  alone  gain  me  admittance 
to  the  house.  But  my  presence  instead  of 
seeming  unwelcome,  seemed  to  be  almost  ex- 
pected by  the  servant  who  opened  to  me.  He 
bowed,  smiled,  and  that,  too,  in  almost  a  holi- 
day fashion  ;  and  when  I  would  have  asked  for 
Mrs.  Pollard,  interrupted  me  by  a  request  to 
lay  off  my  overcoat  in  a  side  room,  which  he 
courteously  pointed  out  to  me. 

There  was  something  in  this  and  in  the 
whole  aspect  of  the  place  which  astonished 
me  greatly.     If  this  sombre  dwelling  with  its 


Confronted, 


329 


this 
I  risk 
ation 

:k  me 

stop 

have 

bject, 

Irawn 

ever 
front 
oell  it 
J  time 
nation 
tance 
ad  of 

t  ex- 
He 

holi- 
id  for 

St  to 
fch  he 

1  the 
ished 
h  its 


rich  but  dismally  dark  halls  and  mysterious 
recesses  could  be  said  to  ever  wear  an  air  of 
cheer,  the  attempt  certainly  had  been  made  to 
effect  this  to-day.  From  the  hand  of  the 
bronze  figure  that  capped  the  newel-post  hung 
wreaths  of  smilax  and  a  basket  full  of  the  most 
exquisite  flowers  ;  while  from  a  half-open  door 
at  my  right  came  a  streak  of  positive  light,  and 
the  sound  of  several  voices  animated  with  some 
sentiment  that  was  strangely  out  of  accord  with 
the  solemn  scene  to  which  this  very  room  had 
so  lately  been  a  witness.  Can  they  be  having  a 
reception  ?  I  asked  myself  ;  and  almost  ashamed 
of  the  surmise,  even  in  the  house  of  one  so  lit- 
tle respected,  I,  nevertheless,  turned  to  the  civil 
servant  before  me  and  remarked  : 

''There  is  something  going  on  hereof  which 
I  was  ignorant.  Is  Mrs.  Pollard  entertaining 
guests  to-day  ?  " 

"  Did  you  not  know,  sir  ?  "  he  inquired.  "  I 
thought  you  had  been  invited,  perhaps  ;  Miss 
Pollard  is  going  to  be  married  this  afternoon." 

Miss  Pollard  going  to  be  married  !  Could 
any  thing  have  been  worse  ?  Shocked,  I  drew 
back  ;  Miss  Pollard  was  a  beautiful  girl  and 
totally  innocent,  in  as  far  as  I  knew,  of  any  of 


Tl 


l! 


11' 


1 


I  i 


330 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


the  wrong  which  had  certainly  been  perpetrated 
by  some  members  of  her  family.  It  would 
never  do  to  mortify  her  or  to  mar  the  pleasure 
of  her  wedding-day  by  any  such  scene  as  my 
errand  probably  involved.  She  must  be  saved 
sorrow  even  if  her  mother But  at  that  in- 
stant the  vague  but  pathetic  form  of  another 
young  girl  flitted  in  imagination  before  my 
eyes,  and  I  asked  myself  if  I  had  not  already 
done  enough  injury  to  the  helpless  and  the 
weak,  without  putting  off  for  another  hour 
even  that  attempt  at  rescue,  which  the  possi- 
bly perilous  position  of  Mr.  Pollard's  grand- 
child so  imperatively  demanded.  As  I  thought 
this  and  remembered  that  the  gentleman  to 
whom  Miss  Pollard  was  engaged  was  an 
Englishman  of  lordly  connections  and  great 
wealth,  I  felt  my  spirit  harden  and  my  purpose 
take  definite  form.  Turning,  therefore,  to  the 
servant  before  me  I  inquired  if  Mrs.  Pollard 
was  above  or  below  ;  and  learning  that  she 
had  not  yet  come  down-stairs,  I  tore  a  leaf 
out  of  my  note-book  and  wrote  on  it  the  fol- 
lowing lines  : 

I  know  your  daughter  is  on  the  point  of  descending  to 
her  marriage.     I  know  also  that  you  do  not  want  to  see 


1 


Confronted. 


IZ"^ 


me.  But  the  interests  of  Miss  Merriam  demand  that  you 
should  do  so,  and  that  immediately.  If  you  do  not  come, 
I  shall  instantly  enter  the  parlor  and  tell  a  story  to  the 
assembled  guests  which  will  somewhat  shake  your  equa- 
nimity when  you  come  to  appear  before  them.  My  moral 
courage  is  not  to  be  judged  by  my  physical,  madam,  and 

I  shall  surely  do  this  thing. 

David  Barrows. 

The  servant,  who  still  lingered  before  me, 
took  this  note. 

"  Give  it  to  Mrs,  Pollard,"  I  requested. 
"  Tell  her  it  is  upon  a  matter  of  pressing  im- 
portance, but  do  not  mention  my  name,  if  you 
please ;  she  will  find  it  in  the  note."  And 
seeing  by  the  man's  face  that  my  wishes  would 
be  complied  with,  I  took  up  my  stand  in  a 
certain  half-curtained  recess  and  waited  with 
loudly  beating  heart  for  the  issue. 

She  came.  I  saw  her  when  she  first  put 
foot  on  the  stairs,  and  notwithstanding  my 
strong  antipathy,  I  could  not  repress  a  certain 
feeling  of  admiration  from  mixing  with  the 
dread  the  least  sight  of  her  always  occasioned 
me.  Her  form,  which  was  of  the  finest,  was 
clad  in  heavy  black  velvet,  without  a  vestige  of 
ornament  to  mar  its  sombre  richness,  and  her 
hair,  now  verging  towards  gray,  was  piled  up 


332 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


\ 


in  masses  on  the  top  of  her  haughty  head, 
adding  inches  to  a  height  that  in  itself  was 
almost  queenly.  But  her  face  !  and  her  cruel 
eye  and  the  smile  of  her  terrible  lip.  I  grew 
cold  as  I  saw  her  approach,  but  I  did  not  move 
from  my  place  or  meditate  the  least  change  in 
the  plan  I  had  laid  for  her  subjection. 

She  stopped  just  two  feet  from  where  I 
stood,  and  without  the  least  bend  of  her  head 
or  any  gesture  of  greeting,  looked  at  me.  I 
bore  it  with  quietude,  and  even  answered 
glance  with  glance,  until  I  saw  her  turn  pale 
with  the  first  hint  of  dismay  which  she  had 
possibly  ever  betrayed  ;  then  I  bowed  and 
waited  for  her  to  speak.  She  did  so  with  a 
hiss  like  a  serpent. 

''  What  does  this  mean  ? "  she  cried.  "  What 
do  you  hope  to  gain  from  me,  that  you  pre- 
sume to  write  me  such  a  letter  on  an  occasion 
like  this?"       ' 

"Madam,"  I  rejoined,  "you  are  in  haste, 
and  so  am  I  ;  so,  without  expressing  any  opin- 
ion of  the  actions  which  have  driven  me  to  this 
step,  I  will  merely  say  that  I  want  but  one 
thing  of  you,  but  that  I  want  immediately, 
without  hesitation  and  without  delay.     I  allude 


Confronted, 


333 


Lead, 
was 
:ruel 
grew 
nove 
gein 

ire  I 
head 
e.  I 
vered 

pale 

i  had 

and 

ith  a 

hat 

pre- 

lasion 

laste, 

|opin- 

this 

one 

Ltely, 

lUude 


to  Miss  Merriam's  address,  which  you  have, 
and  which  you  must  give  me  on  the  spot." 

She  shrank.  This  cold,  confident,  imperious 
woman  shrank,  and  this  expression  of  emotion, 
while  it  showed  she  was  not  entirely  without 
sensation,  awoke  within  me  a  strange  fear,  since 
how  dark  must  be  her  secret,  if  she  could  trem- 
ble at  the  thought  of  its  discovery.  She  must 
have  seen  that  I  was  affected,  for  her  confi- 
dence immediately  returned. 

**  I  do  not  know, — "  she  began  to  say. 

But  I  mercilessly  interrupted  her. 

"■  But  /know,"  said  I,  with  an  emphasis  on 
the  pronoun,  "and  know  so  much  that  I  am 
sure  the  company  within  would  be  glad  to 
hear  what  I  could  tell  them.  Mr.  Harrington, 
for  instance,  who  I  hear  is  of  a  very  hon- 
orable family  in  England,  would  be  pleased  to 
learn " 

"  Hush  !"  she  whispered,  seizing  my  wrist 
with  a  hand  of  steel.  **  If  I  must  tell  you  I 
will,  but  no  more  words  from  you,  do  you  hear, 
no  more  words." 

I  took  out  my  note-book  and  thrust  it  into 
her  hand. 

"Write,"  I  commanded;  "her  full  address, 


M'     \ 


\ 


';! 


:i 


11 


M 


334 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


mind  you,  that  I  may  find  her  before  the  day 
is  over." 

She  gave  me  a  strange  glance  but  took  the 
book  and  pencil  without  a  word. 

*'  There  ! "  she  cried,  hurriedly  writing  a 
line  and  passing  the  book  back  to  me.  **  And 
now  go  ;  our  time  for  further  conversation 
will  come  later." 

But  I  did  not  stir.  I  read  aloud  the  line 
she  had  given  me  and  then  said  : 

"  Madam,  this  address  is  either  a  true  or 
a  false  one.  Which,  I  shall  soon  know.  For 
upon  leaving  here,  I  shall  proceed  immediately 
to  the  telegraph-office,  from  which  I  shall  tele- 
graph to  the  police  station  nearest  to  this 
address,  for  the  information  I  desire.  I  shall 
receive  an  answer  within  the  hour ;  and  if 
I  find  you  have  aeceived  me  I  shall  not  hesi- 
tate to  return  here,  and  so  suitably  accompanied 
that  you  will  not  only  open  to  me,  but  rectify 
whatever  mistake  you  may  have  made.  Your 
guests  will  not  be  gone  in  an  hour,"  I  ruth- 
lessly added. 

Her  face,  which  had  been  pale,  turned 
ghastly.  Glancing  up  at  a  clock  which  stood  a 
few  feet  from  the  recess  in  which  we  stood, 


:  the 


ng  a 

And 

ation 


s  line 

ae  or 
For 

lately 

1  tele- 

this 

shall 

Ind   if 
hesi- 

anied 
ctify 

Your 
ruth- 

urned 

)od  a 

Itood, 


Confronted, 


335 


she  gave  an  involuntary  shudder  and  looked 
about  for  Guy. 

-  "  Your  son,  f^;rtile  as  he  is  in  resources,  can- 
not help  you,"  I  remarked.  *'  There  is  no  pit 
of  darkness  here  ;  besides  I  have  learned  a 
lesson,  madam  ;  and  not  death  itself  would  de- 
ter me  now  from  doing  r^y  duty  by  this  inno- 
cent child.  So  if  you  wish  to  change  this 
address " 

I  stopped  ;  a  strain  of  music  had  risen  from 
the  parlor.  It  was  Mendlessohn's  Wedding 
March.  Mrs.  Pollard  started,  cast  a  hurried 
look  above  and  tore  the  note-book  out  of  my 
hands. 

"  You  are  a  fiend,"  she  hissed,  and  hurriedly 
scratching  out  the  words  she  had  written,  she 
wrote  another  number  and  name.  "  Y'ou  will 
find  she  is  there,"  she  cried,  "  and  since  I  have 
complied  with  your  desire,  you  will  have 
no  need  to  return  here  till  you  bring  the 
young  girl  homey 

The  emphasis  she  placed  on  the  last  word 
startled  me.  I  looked  at  her  and  wondered  if 
Medea  wore  such  a  countenance  when  she 
stabbed  her  children  to  the  heart.  But  it 
flashed  and  was  gone,  and  the  next  moment 


•1 
% 
1 

I 


'r 
jl 

till 


,» 


■M 


%. 


! 


' 


336 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


she  had  moved  away  from  my  side  and  I  had 
'Stepped  to  the  door.  As  I  opened  it  to  pass 
»'at  I  caught  one  glimpse  of  the  bride  as 
she  came  down  the  stairs.  She  looked  ex- 
quisite in  her  simple  white  dress,  and  her  face 
was  wreathed  in  smiles. 


K  i 


\    r 


I?  W. 


i     :  I 


ll 


\ 


had 
pass 
e  as 
I  ex- 
•  face 


■ 


^ 


XXV. 

THE    FINAL    BLOW. 

It  was  a  deadly  blow  !  A  blow  like  that 
"Which  swooping  unawares  from  out  the  night, 
Dashes  a  man  from  some  high  starlit  peak 
Into  a  void  of  cold  and  hurrying  waves. 

THE  distrust  which  I  felt  for  Mrs.  Pollard 
was  so  great  that  I  was  still  uncertain 
as  to  whether  she  had  given  me  the  right  ad- 
dress. I  therefore  proceeded  to  carry  out  my 
original  design  and  went  at  once  to  the  tele- 
graph-office. The  message  I  sent  was  peremp- 
tory and  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour  this 
answer  was  returned. 

Person  described,  found.    Condition  critical.    Come  at 
once. 

There  was  a  train  that  left  in  fifteen  min- 
utes. Though  I  had  just  come  from  Boston, 
I  did  not  hesitate  to  return  at  once.  By  six 
o'clock  of  that  day  I  stood  before  the  house  to 
which  I  had  been  directed.     My  first  sight  of 

337 


I  ■  1' 


338 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


it  struck  me  like  death.  God,  what  was  I 
about  to  encounter  !  What  sort  of  a  spot 
was  this,  and  what  was  the  doom  that  had 
befallen  the  child  •  committed  to  my  care. 
Numb  with  horror,  I  rang  the  door-bell  with 
difficulty,  and  when  I  was  admitted  by  a  man  in 
the  guise  of  an  officer,  I  felt  something  like  an 
instantaneous  relief,  though  I  saw  by  his  coun- 
tenance that  he  had  any  thing  but  good  news 
to  give  me. 

**  Are  you  the  gentleman  who  telegraphed 
from  S ?  "  h(3  asked. 

I  bowed,  not  feeling  able  to  speak. 

**  Relative  or  friend  ?  "  he  went  on. 

**  Friend,"  I  managed  to  reply. 
'  **  Do  you  guess  what  has  happened?"  he 
inquired. 

**  I  dare  not."  I  answered,  with  a  fearful 
look  about  me  on  walls  that  more  than  con- 
firmed my  suspicions. 

"  Miss  Merriam  is  dead,"  he  answered. 

I  drew  a  deep  breath.  It  was  almost  a 
relief. 

*'  Come  in,"  he  said,  and  opened  the  door  of 
a  room  at  our  right.  When  we  were  seated 
and  I  had  by  careful  observation  made  sure 


IS     I 

spot 
had 
care, 
with  ' 
an  in 
:e  an 
:oun- 
news 

phed 


"  he 


jarful 
con- 


)st  a 

lor  of 

iated 

sure 


The  Final  Blow, 


339 


we  were  alone,  I  motioned  for  him  to  go  on. 
He  immediately  complied.  **  When  we  re- 
ceived your  telegram,  we  sent  a  man  hei'e 
at  once.  He  had  some  difficulty  in  entering 
and  still  more  in  finding  the  young  lady,  who 
was  hidden  in  the  most  remote  part  of  the 
house.  But  by  perseverance  and  some  force 
he  at  last  obtained  entrance  to  her  room  where 
he  found — pardon  my  abruptness,  it  will  be  a 
mercy  to  you  for  me  to  cut  the  story  short — 
that  he  had  been  ordered  here  too  late ;  the 
young  lady  had  taken  poison  and  was  on  the 
point  of  death." 

The  horror  in  my  face  reflected  itself  faintly 
in  his.  ^ 

**  I  do  not  know  how  she  came  to  this 
house,"  he  proceeded  ;  "  but  she  must  have 
been  a  person  of  great  purity  and  courage  ; 
for  though  she  died  almost  immediately  upon 
his  entrance,  she  had  time  to  say  that  she  had 
preferred  death  to  the  fate  that  threatened 
her,  and  that  no  one  would  mourn  her  for 
she  had  no  friends  in  this  country,  and  her 
father  would  never  hear  how  she  died." 

I  sprang  wildly  to  my  feet. 

**  Did   she  mention   no   names?"    I   asked. 


I 


340 


The  Mill  Mystery 


"  Did  she  not  say  who  brought  her  to  this 
hell  of  hells,  or  murmur  even  with  her  dying 
breath,  one  word  that  would  guide  us  in  fixing 
this  crime  upon  the  head  of  her  who  is  guilty 
of  it?" 

"No,"  answered  the  officer,  "no;  but  you 
are  right  in  thinking  it  was  a  woman,  but  what 
woman,  the  creature  below  evidently  does  not 
know."  ' 

Feeling  that  the  situation  demanded 
though.,  I  composed  myself  to  the  best  of 
my  ability.   > 

"  I  am  the  Rev.  David  Barrows  of  S ,'* 

said  I,  "and  my  interest  in  this  young  girl  is 
purely  that  of  a  humanitarian.  I  have  never 
seen  her.  I  do  not  even  know  how  lone  she 
has  been  in  this  country.  But  I  learned  that 
a  girl  by  the  name  of  Grace  Merriam  had  been 
beguiled  from  her  boarding-place  here  in  this 
city,  and  fearing  that  some  terrible  evil  had 
befallen  her,  I  telegraphed  to  the  police  to 
look  her  up." 

The  officer  bowed. 

"The  number  of  her  boarding  -  place  .^^ " 
asked  he. 

I  told  him,  and  not  waiting  for  any  further 


Xhe  Final  Blow. 


341 


>» 


:e  r 


rther 


questions,  demanded  if  I  might  not  see  the 
body  of  the  young  girl. 

He  led  me  at  once  to  the  room  in  which  it 
lay,  and  stood  respectfully  at  the  door  while  I 
went  in  alone.  The  sight  I  saw  has  never  left 
me.  Go  where  I  will,  I  see  ever  before  me 
that  pure  young  face,  with  its  weary  look 
hushed  in  the  repose  of  death.  It  haunts  me^ 
it  accuses  me.  It  asks  me  where  is  the  noble 
womanhood  that  might  have  blossomed  from 
this  sweet  bud,  had  it  not  been  for  my  pusila- 
nimity  and  love  of  life  ?  But  when  I  try  to 
answer,  I  am  stopped  by  that  image  of  death, 
with  its  sealed  lips  and  closed  eyes  never  to 
open  again — never,  never,  whatever  my  long- 
ing, my  anguish,  or  my  despair. 

But  the  worst  shock  was  to  come  yet.  As 
I  left  the  room  and  went  stumbling  down  the 
stairs,  I  was  met  by  the  officer  and  led  again 
into  the  apartment  I  had  first  entered  on  the 
ground  floor. 

*'  There  is  some  one  here,"  he  began,  "  whom 
you  may  like  to  question." 

Thinking  it  to  be  the  woman  of  the  house, 
I  advanced,  though  somewhat  reluctantly, 
when  a  sight  met  my  eyes  that  made  me  fall 


ill 


'I   I 


342 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


i 


m 


r' 


back  in  astonishment  and  dread.  It  was  the 
figure  of  a  woman  dressed  all  in  gray,  with  a 
dark-blue  veil  drawn  tightly  over  her  features. 

"Good  God!"  I  murmured,  "who  is  this?" 

*'  The  woman  who  brought  her  here,"  ob- 
served the  officer.  "  Farrell,  there,  has  just 
found  her." 

And  then  I  perceived  darkly  looming  in  the 
now  heavy  dusk  the  form  of  another  man, 
whose  unconscious  and  business-like  air  pro- 
claimed him  to  be  a  member  of  the  force. 

"  Her  name  is  Sophie  Preston,"  the  officer 
continued,  motioning  to  the  woman  to  throw 
up  her  veil.  "  She  is  a  hard  character,  and 
some  day  will  have  to  answer  for  her  many 
crimes." 

Meanwhile,  I  stood  rooted  to  the  ground ; 
the  name,  the  face  were  strange,  and  neither 
that  of  her  whom  I  had  inwardly  accused  of 
this  wrong. 

"  I   should  like  to  ask  the  woman "  I 

commenced,  but  here  my  eyes  fell  upon  her 
form.  It  was  tall  and  it  was  full,  but  it  was 
not  by  any  means  handsome.  A  fearful  pos- 
sibility crossed  my  mind.  Approaching  the 
woman  closely,  I  modified  my  question. 


i 


The  Final  Blow, 


343 


as  the 
with  a 
itures. 
this?" 
i,"  ob- 
lS   just 

in  the 
•  man, 
ir  pro- 

e. 

officer 
throw 

er,  and 
many 

round ; 
neither 
sed  of 

— "  I 
►n  her 
it  was 
[ul  pos- 
ig  the 


**  Are  you  the  person  who  took  this  young 
lady  from  her  boarding  place  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  uttered  in  smooth 
but  by  no  means  cultivated  tones. 

"  And  by  what  arts  did  you  prevail  upon  this 
young  and  confiding  creature  to  leave  her  com- 
fortable home  and  go  out  into  the  streets  with 

She  did  not  speak,  she  smiled.  O  heaven  ! 
what  depths  of  depravity  opened  before  me  in 
that  smile  ! 

"  Answer  !"  the  officer  cried. 

''  Well,  sir,  I  told  her,"  she  now  replied, 
**that  I  was  such  and  such  a  relative,  grand- 
mother, I  think  I  said ;  and  being  a  dutiful 
child " 

But  I  was  now  up  close  to  her  side,  and, 
leaning  to  her  very  ear  I  interrupted  her. 

'*  Tell  me  on  which  side  of  the  hall  was  the 
parlor  into  which  you  went." 

"  The  right,"  she  answered,  without  the  least 
show  of  hesitation. 

"Wrong,"  I  returned;  "you  have  never 
.  been  there." 

She  looked  frightened. 

"  O,  sir,"  she  whispered,  "hush!  hush!     If 


».  J 


ll  I  ^ 

ll    ' 


344 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


you  know — "  And  there  she  stopped ;  and 
insantly  cried  aloud,  in  a  voice  that  warned 
me  I  should  make  nothing  by  pressing  my 
suspicions  at  this  time  and  in  this  place, 
**  I  lured  the  young  lady  from  her  home  and 
I  brought  her  here.  If  it  is  a  criminal  act  I 
shall  have  to  answer  for  it.  We  all  run  such 
risks  now  and  then." 

To  me,  with  my  superior  knowledge  of  all 
the  mysteries  which  lay  behind  this  pitiful 
tragedy,  her  meaning  was  evident.  Whether 
she  had  received  payment  sufficient  for  the 
punishment  possibly  awaiting  her,  or  whether 
she  had  been  frightened  into  assuming  the  re- 
sponsibility of  another,  she  was  evidently  re- 
solved to  sustain  her  role  of  abductress  to  the 
end.  .5 

The  look  she  gave  me  at  the  completion  of 
her  words  intensified  this  conviction,  and  not 
feeling  sufficiently  sure  of  my  duty  to  dispute 
her  at  the  present  time,  I  took  advantage  of 
her  determination,  and  outwardly,  if  not  in- 
wardly, accepted  her  confession  as  true. 

I  therefore  retreated  from  her  side,  and  be- 
ing anxious  to  avoid  the  coroner,  who  was 
likely  to  enter  at  any  minute,  I  confined  myself 


V 


be- 
was 
'self 


The  Final  Blow, 


345 


iG 


to  asking  a  few  leading  questions,  which  being 
answered  in  a  manner  seemingly  frank,  I  pro- 
•  fessed   myself   satisfied   with   the   result,  and 
hastily  withdrew. 


■3 


>n  of 
not 
)pute 
^e  of 
It  in- 


f*" 


II 


i  ■  I  u. 


I  li 


m 


XXVI. 

A    FELINE    TOUCH. 

Thou  hast  not  half  the  power  to  do  me  harm,  as  I  have  to  be  hurt. 

— Othello. 

THE  tumult  in  my  mind  and  heart  were 
great,  but  my  task  was  not  yet  com- 
pleted, and  till  it  was  I  could  neither  stop  to 
analyze  my  emotions  nor  measure  the  depths 
of  darkness  into  which  I  had  been  plunged  by 
an  occurrence  as  threatening  to  my  peace  as  it 
was  pitiful  to  my  heart.  Mrs.  Pollard  was  to 
be  again  interviewed,  and  to  that  formidable 
duty  every  thing  bowed,  even  my  need  of  rest 
and  the  demand  which  my  whole  body  made 
for  refreshment. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  when  I  stood  for  the 
second  time  that  day  at  her  door  ;  and,  con- 
trary to  my  expectations,  I  found  as  little  diffi- 
culty in  entering  as  I  had  before.  Indeed,  the 
servant  was  even  more  affable  and  obliging 
than  he  had  been  in  the  afternoon,  and  per- 

346  i 


/ 


A  Felme  Touch, 


347 


/ 


)e  hurt. 

LLLO. 

were 
corn- 
Dp  to 
epths 
ed  by 
as  it 
:as  to 
Idable 
rest 
Imade 

ir  the 
con- 
diffi- 

[,  the 

per- 

\ 


sisted  in  showing  me  into  a  small  room  off  the 
parlor,  now  empty  of  guests,  and  going  at  once 
for  Mrs.  Pollard. 

''She  will  see  you,  sir,  I  am  sure,*'  was  his 
last  remark  as  he  went  out  of  the  door,  ''  for, 
though  she  is  so  very  tired,  she  told  me  if  you 
called  to  ask  you  to  wait." 

I  looked  around  on  the  somewhat  desolate 
scene  that  presented  itself,  and  doubtingly 
shook  my  head.  This  seeming  submission  on 
the  part  of  a  woman  so  indomitable  as  she, 
meant  something.  Either  she  was  thoroughly 
frightened  or  else  she  meditated  some  treachery. 
In  either  case  I  needed  all  my  self-command. 
Happily,  the  scene  I  had  just  quitted  was  yet 
vividly  impressed  upon  my  mind,  and  v»rhile  it 
remained  so,  I  felt  as  strong  and  unassailable 
as  I  had  once  felt  weak  and  at  the  mercy  of  my 
fears. 

I  did  not  have  to  wait  long.  Almost  imme- 
diately upon  the  servant's  call,  Mrs.  Pollard 
entered  the  room  and  stood  before  me.  Her 
first  glance  told  me  all.     She  was  frightened. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  hard  whisper,  and 
with  a  covert  look  around  as  if  she  feared  the 
very  walls  niight  hear  us.     "  You  have  found 


u 


i> 


: 


348 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery. 


the  girl  and  you  have  come  to  ask  for  money. 
It  is  a  reasonable  request,  and  if  you  do  not 
ask  too  much  you  shall  have  it.  I  think  it  will 
heal  all  wounds.'* 

My  indignation  flared  up  through  all  my 
horror  and  dismay. 

"  Money  ?  "  I  cried,  ^*  money  ?  what  good 
will  money  do  the  dead ;  you  have  killed  her, 
madam." 

"  Killed  her  ?  "  No  wonder  she  grew  pale, 
no  wonder  she  half  gasped.  "  Killed  her  ?  " 
she  repeated. 

"  Yes,"  I  returned,  not  giving  her  time  to 
think,  much  less  speak.  **  Lured  by  you  to  a 
den  of  evil,  she  chose  to  die  rather  than  live  on 
in  disgrace.  The  woman  who  lent  you  her 
clothes  has  been  found,  and — I  see  I  have 
reached  you  at  last,"  I  broke  in.  **  I  thought 
God's  justice  would  work." 

<<  I — I  "     She  had  to  moisten  her  lips 

before  she  could  speak.  "  I  don't  understand 
what  you  mean.  You  say  I  lured  her,  that  is 
a  lie.  I  never  took  her  to  this  den  of  evil  as 
you  call  it." 

^*  But  you  knew  the  street  and  number  of 
the  house,  and  you  gave  her  into  the  hand  of 
the  woman  who  did  take  her  there,"  \ 


mmmammm 


'^\A 


A  Feline  Touch. 


349 


lips 
band 

Lt  is 
fil  as 

ir  of 
of 


**  I  knew  the  number  of  the  house  but  I  did 
not  know  it  was  a  den  of  evil.  I  thought  it  was 
a  respectable  place,  cheaper  than  the  one  she 
was  in.     I  am  sorry " 

"  Madam,"  I  interrupted^  *'  you  will  find  it 
difficult  to  make  the  world  believe  you  so  des- 
titute of  good  sense  as  not  to  know  the  char- 
acter of  the  house  to  which  such  a  woman  as 
you  entrusted  her  with  would  be  likely  to  lead 
her.  Besides,  how  will  you  account  for  the 
fact  that  you  wore  a  dress  precisely  like  that 
of  this  creature  when  you  enticed  Miss  Mer- 
riam  ^  vv^ay  from  her  home.  Is  there  any  jury 
who  will  believe  it  to  be  a  coincidence,  espe- 
cially when  they  learn  that  you  kept  your  veil 
down  in  the  presence  of  every  one  there  ?  " 

"  But  what  proof  have  you  that  it  was  I  who 
went  for  Miss  Merriam  ?  The  word  of  this 
woman  whom  you  yourself  call  a  creature  ?  " 

**  The  word  of  the  landlady,  who  described 
Miss  Merrlam's  visitor  as  tall  and  of  a  hand- 
some figure,  and  my  own  eyesight,  which  as- 
sured me  that  the  woman  who  came  with  her 
to  her  place  of  death  was  not  especially  tall 
nor  of  a  handsome  fii^ure.  Besides,  I  talked 
to  the  latter,   and  found   she    could    tell    me 


r  : 


350 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


nothing  of  the  interior  of  the  house  where 
Miss  Merriam  boarded.  She  did  not  even 
know  if  the  parlors  were  on  the  right  or  the 
left  side  of  the  hall." 

"  Indeed  ! "  came  in  Mrs.  Pollard's  harshest 
and  most  cutting  tones.  But  the  attempted 
sarcasm  failed.  She  was  shaken  to  the  core, 
and  there  was  no  use  in  her  trying  to  hide  it. 
I  did  not,  therefore,  seek  to  break  the  silence 
which  followed  the  utterance  of  this  bitter  ex- 
clamation ;  for  the  sooner  she  understood  the 
seriousness  of  her  position  the  sooner  I  should 
see  what  my  own  duty  was.  Suddenly  she 
spoke,  but  not  in  her  former  tones.  The  wily 
woman  had  sounded  the  depths  of  the  gulf 
upon  the  brink  of  which  she  had  inadvertently 
stumbled,  and  her  voice,  which  had  been  harsh 
and  biting,  now  took  on  all  the  softness  which 
hypocrisy  could  give  it.     • 

But  her  words  were  sarcastic  as  ever. 

**  I  asked  you  a  moment  ago,"  said  she, 
*'  what  money  you  wanted.  I  do  not  ask  that 
now,  as  the  girl  is  dead  and  a  clergyman  is  not 
supposed  to  take  much  interest  in  filthy  lucre. 
But  you  want  something,  or  you  would  not  be 
here.     Is  it  revenge  ?    It  is  a  sentiment  worthy 


A  Feline  Touch. 


351 


of  your  cloth,  and  I  can  easily  understand  the 
desire  you  may  have  to  indulge  in  it." 

"  Madam,"  I  cried,  '*  can  you  think  of  no 
other  motive  than  a  desire  for  vengeance  or 
gain  ?  Have  you  never  heard  of  such  a  thing 
as  justice?" 

**  And  do  you  intend "  she  whispered. 

"  There  will  be  an  inquest  held,"  I  continued. 
**  I  shall  be  called  as  a  witness,  and  so  doubt- 
less will  you.  Are  you  prepared  to  answer  all 
and  every  question  that  will  be  put  you  ?  " 

"  An  inquest  ?  "  Her  face  was  quite  ghastly 
now.  '*  And  have  you  taken  pains  to  publish 
abroad  my  connection  with  this  girl  ?" 

*^  Not  yet." 

'*  She  is  known,  however,  to  be  a  grandchild 
of  Mr.  Pollard?" 

-  No,"  said  I. 

"  What  is  known  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"That  she  was  Mr.  Pollard's  protege." 

*'And  you,  you  alone,  hold  the  key  to  her 
real  history?" 

*'Yes,"  I  assented,  "I." 

She  advanced  upon  me  with  all  the  venom 
of  her  evil  nature  sparkling  in  her  eye.  I  met 
the  glance  unmoved.      For  a  reason    I  will 


I 


'■"''    f  ■*' 


fe 


^- 


I 


i  I 


352 


7:^^  J/^//  Mystery, 


hereafter  divulge,  I  no  longer  felt  any  fear 
of  what  either  she  or  hers  might  do. 

"  I  alone  know  her  history  and  what  she 
owes  to  you,"  I  repeated. 

She  instantly  fell  back.  Whether  she  under- 
stood me  or  not,  she  saw  that  her  hold  upon 
me  was  gone,  that  th  ivn.rdice  she  had  been 
witness  to  was  dead,  ah  1  tn^t  she,  not  I,  must 
plead  for  mercy. 

"  Mr.  Barrows,"  said  she  ;  "what  is  this  girl 
to  you  that  you  should  sacrifice  the  living  to 
her  memory?" 

"  Mrs.  Pollard,"  I  returned  with  equal  in- 
tensity, "  shall  I  tell  you  ?  She  is  the  victim 
of  my  pusilanimity.  That  is  what  she  is  to  me, 
and  that  is  what  makes  her  memory  more  to 
me  than  the  peace  or  good  name  of  her  seem- 
ingly respectable  murderers." 

Was  it  the  word  I  used  or  did  some  notion 
of  the  effect  which  a  true  remorse  can  have 
upon  a  conscientious  soul,  pierce  her  cold 
heart  at  last  ?  I  cannot  tell ;  I  only  know  that 
she  crouched  for  an  instant  as  if  a  blow  had 
fallen  upon  her  haughty  head,  then  rising  erect 
again — she  was  a  proud  woman  still  and  would 
be  to  her  death,  whatever  her  fate  or  fortune — 

V 


A  Feline  Toitch, 


353 


to 


to 


)ld 
lat 
lad 

iCt 

lid 


\  : 


she  gave  me  an  indescribable  look,  and  in 
smothered  tones  remarked  :  ' 

*'Your  sympathies  are  with  the  innocent. 
That  is  well ;  now  come  with  me,  I  have 
another  innocence  to  show  you,  and  after  you 
have  seen  it  tell  me  whether  innocence  living 
or  innocence  dead  has  the  most  claim  upon 
your  pity  and  regard."  And  befor  I  realized 
what  she  was  doing,  she  had  led  m'^,  a^ioss  the 
room  to  a  window,  from  which  she  hastily 
pulled  aside  the  curtain  that  hunp  across  it. 

The  sight  that  met  my  eye.,  was  like  a 
dream  of  fairyland  let  into  the  gloom  and 
terror  of  a  nightmare.  The  window  over- 
looked the  conservatory,  and  the  latter  being 
lighted,  a  vision  of  tropical  verdure  and  burn- 
ing blossoms  flashed  before  us.  But  it  was  not 
upon  this  wealth  of  light  and  color  that  the 
gaze  rested  in  the  fullest  astonishment  and  de- 
light. It  was  upon  two  figures  seated  in  the 
midst  of  these  palm-trees  and  cacti,  whose 
faces,  turned  the  one  towards  the  other,  made 
a  picture  of  love  and  joy  that  the  coldest  heart 
must  feel,  and  the  most  stolid  view  with  de- 
light. It  was  the  bridegroom  and  his  bride, 
Mr.  Harrington  and  the  beautiful  Agnes 
Pollard. 


: 


1 


'■3 


J  If 

I'  >m- 

<  Hi' 

III 

m 

iirf 


354 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery. 


I  felt  the  hand  that  lay  upon  my  arm  tremble. 

**  Have  you  the  heart  to  dash  such  happiness 
as  that  ?  "  murmured  a  voice  in  my  ear. 

Was  it  Mrs.  Pollard  speaking  ?  I  had  never 
heard  such  a  tone  as  that  from  her  before. 
Turning,  I  looked  at  her.  Her  face  was  as 
changed  as  her  voice  ;  there  was  not  only 
softness  in  it  but  appeal.  It  was  no  longer 
Mrs.  Pollard  who  stood  beside  me,  but  the 
mother. 

**  She  has  never  made  a  mistake,"  continued 
this  terrible  being,  all  the  more  terrible  to  me 
now  that  I  saw  capabilities  of  feeling  in  her. 
**  She  is  young  and  has  her  whole  life  before 
her.  If  you  pursue  the  claims  of  justice  as 
you  call  them,  her  future  will  be  wrecked.  It  is 
no  fool  she  has  married  but  a  proud  man, 
the  proudest  of  his  race.  If  he  had  known  she 
had  for  a  brother  one  whom  his  own  country 
had  sentenced  to  perpetual  imprisonment,  he 
would  not  have  married  her  had  his  love  been 
ten  times  what  it  is.  It  was  because  her  fam- 
ily was  honored  and  could  bestow  a  small 
fortune  upon  her  in  dowry  that  he  braved  his 
English  prejudices  at  all.  What  then  do  you 
think   would   be    the    result  if  he  knew  that 


I 


1 


A  Feline  Touch, 


355 


not  only  was  her  brother  a  convict,  but  her 

mother "     She  did  not  finish,  but  broke  in 

upon  herself  with  a  violence  that  partook  of 
frenzy.  "He  would  first  ignore  her,  then  hate 
her.     I  know  these  Englishmen  well." 

It  was  true.  The  happiness  or  misery  of 
this  young  creature  hung  upon  my  decision.  A 
glance  at  her  husband's  face  made  this  evident. 
He  would  love  her  while  he  could  be  proud  of 
her ;  he  would  hate  her  the  moment  her  pres- 
ence suggested  shame  or  opprobrium. 

My  wily  antagonist  evidently  saw  I  was  im- 
pressed, for  her  face  grew  still  softer  and  her 
tone  more  insinuatingf. 

"  She  was  her  father's  darling,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  He  could  never  bear  to  see  a  frown 
upon  her  face  or  a  tear  in  her  eye.  Could  he 
know  now  what  threatened  her  do  you  think 
he  would  wish  you  to  drag  disgrace  upon  her 
head  for  the  sake  of  justice  to  a  being  who  is 
dead?" 

I  did  not  reply.  The  truth  was  I  felt  stag- 
gered. 

''  See  what  an  exquisite  creature  she  is,"  the 
mother  now  murmured  in  my  ear.  "  Look  at 
her  well— she  can  bear  it  —  and  tell  me  where 


356 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


M 

'  i 

i 

.(r 

'''    S'' 

1' 

;.;     I 

1 

■1 1 

'%'• 

1 

1  ' 

W 

1 

\\ 

i: 

1 

i 

r' 

i 

j 

1 

11 

.  \ 

Bu" 

1; 

In  the  world  you  will  find  beauty  more  en- 
trancing or  a  nature  lovelier  and  more  en- 
ticing ? "  . 

"  Madam,"  said  I,  turning  upon  her  with  a 
severity  the  moment  seemed  to  deserve,  **  in  a 
den  of  contamination,  amid  surroundings  such 
as  it  will  not  do  for  me  to  mention  even  before 
her  who  could  make  use  of  them  to  destroy  the 
innocence  that  trusted  in  her,  there  lies  the 
dead  body  of  one  as  pure,  as  lovely,  and  as 
attractive  as  this  ;  indeed  her  beauty  is  more 
winning  for  it  has  not  the  stamp  of  worldliness 
upon  it." 

The  mother  before  me  grew  livid.  Her 
brows  contracted  and  she  advanced  upon  me 
with  a  menacing  gesture  almost  as  if  she  would 
strike  me.  In  all  my  experience  of  the  world 
and  of  her  I  had  never  seen  such  rage  ;  it  was 
all  but  appalling.  Involuntarily  I  raised  my 
hand  in  defence. 

But  she  had  already  rememered  her  posi- 
tion and  by  a  violent  change  now  stood  before 
me  calm  and  collected  as  of  old. 

"  You  have  been  injured  by  me  and  have 
acquired  the  right  to  insult  me,"  cried  she. 
Then  as  I  made  no  move,  said :    "  It  is  not  of 


IV 


\ 


A  Feline  Touch, 


357 


the  dead  we  were  speaking.  It  was  of  her, 
Samuel  Pollard's  child.  Do  you  intend  to  ruin 
her  happiness  or  do  you  not  ?  Speak,  for  it  is 
a  question  I  naturally  desire  to  have  settled." 

"  Madam,"  I  now  returned,  edging  away 
from  that  window  with  its  seductive  picture  of 
youthful  joy,  "  before  I  can  settle  it  I  must 
know  certain  facts.  Not  till  I  understand  how 
you  succeeded  in  enticing  her  from  her  home 
and  by  what  means  you  transferred  her  into 
the  care  of  the  vile  woman  who  took  your 
place,  will  I  undertake  to  consider  the  possi- 
bility of  withholding  the  denunciation  which  it 
is  in  my  power  to  make."  x 

''  And  you  expect  me  to  tell "  she  began, 

*'  Every  thing,"  I  finished,  firmly. 

She  smiled  with  a  drawing  in  of  her  lips 
that  was  feline.  Then  she  glared  ;  then  she 
looked  about  her  and  approached  nearer  to 
me  by  another  step. 

"  I  Y  Ish  I  could  kill  you,"  her  look  said. 
"  I  wish  by  the  lifting  of  my  finger  you  would 
fall  dead."  But  her  lips  made  use  of  no  such 
language.  She  was  caught  in  the  toils,  and 
lioness  as  she  was,  found  herself  forced  to 
obey  the  will  that  ensnared  her. 


11 


I 


ni 

^B'^i^^K.'' 

1  §'' 

i 

-;t^H^ 

1 

''■ft'' 

f 

>  iSEfT 

iP  ' 

'  V'' 

<E 

i !     '  1  : 

w 

& 

■!      IB'      : 

ft 


358 


TAe  Mill  Mystery, 


"  You  want  facts  ;  well,  you  shall  have 
them.  You  want  to  know  how  I  managed  to 
induce  Miss  Merriam  to  leave  the  house  where 
my  husband  had  put  her.  It  is  a  simple  ques- 
tion. Was  I  not  her  grandfather's  wife,  and 
could  I  not  be  supposed  to  know  what  his  de- 
sires were  concerning  her  ?  " 

**  And  the  second  fact  ?  " 

She  looked  at  me  darklv. 

*'  You  are  very  curious,"  said  she. 

"  I  am,"  said  I. 

Her  baleful  sm*ile  repeated  itself. 

"  You  think  that  by  these  confessions  I  will 
place  myself  .a  a  position  which  will  make  it 
impossible  for  me  to  press  my  request.  You 
do  "ot  understand  me,  sir.  Had  I  committed 
ten  times  the  evil  I  have  done,  that  would  not 
justify  you  in  wantonly  destroying  the  happi- 
ness of  the  innocent." 

"  I  wish  to  know  the  facts,"  I  said. 

'*  vShe  went  with  me  to  a  respectable  eating- 
house,"  Mrs.  Pollard  at  once  explained.  "  Leav- 
her  to  eat  her  lunch,  I  went  to  a  place  near  by, 
where  the  woman  you  saw,  met  me  by  appoint- 
ment, and  putting  on  the  clothes  I  had  worn, 
went  back  for  the  girl  in  my  stead.     As  I  had 


A  Feline  Touch. 


359 


taken  pains  not  to  raise  my  veil  except  just  at 
the  moment  when  I  wanted  to  convince  her  I 
was  her  natural  guardian,  the  woman  had  only 
to  hold  her  tongue  to  make  the  deception  suc- 
cessful. That  she  did  this  is  evident  from  the 
result.  Is  there  any  thing  more  you  would 
like  to  know  ?  " 

''Yes,"  I  replied,  inwardly  quaking  before 
this  revelation  of  an  inconceivable  wickedness, 
yet  steadily  resolved  to  probe  it  to  the  very 
depths.  "  What  did  you  hope  to  gain  by  this 
deliberate  plan  of  destruction  ?  The  girl's 
death,  or  simply  her  degradation  ?  " 

The  passion  in  this  woman's  soul  found  its 
vent  at  last. 

*'  I  hoped  to  lose  her ;  to  blot  her  out  of  my 
path — and  hers,"  she  more  gently  added,  point- 
ing with  a  finger  that  trembled  with  more  than 
one  fierce  emotion,  at  the  daughter  for  whom 
she  had  sacrificed  so  much.  *'  I  did  not  think 
the  girl  would  die  ;  I  am  no  murderess  what- 
ever intimation  you  may  make  to  that  effect. 
I  am  simply  a  mother."    - 

A  mother !  O  horrible  !  I  looked  at  her 
and  recoiled.  That  such  a  one  as  this  should 
have  the  right  to  lay  claim  to  so  holy  a  title 
and  asperse  it  thus  ! 


1  -I 


360 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


She  viewed  my  emotion  but  made  no  sign  of 
understanding  it.  Her  words  poured  forth  like 
a  stream  of  burning  liquid. 

**  Do  you  realize  what  this  girl's  living 
meant  ?  It  meant  recognition,  and  conse- 
quently disgrace  and  a  division  of  our  prop- 
erty, the  loss  of  my  daughter's  dowry,  and  of 
all  the  hopes  she  had  built  on  it.  Was  I,  who 
had  given  to  Samuel  Pollard  the  very  money 
by  means  of  which  he  had  made  his  wealth,  to 
stand  this?  Not  if  a  hundred  daughters  of 
convicts  must  perish." 

*'  And  your  sons  ?  " 

•'  What  of  them  ?  " 

"  Had  they  no  claim  upon  your  considera- 
tion. When  you  plunged  them  into  this  abyss 
of  greed  and  deceit  did  no  phantom  of  their 
lost  manhood  rise  and  confront  you  with 
an    unanswerable    reproach  ?  " 

But  she  remained  unmoved. 

"  My  sons  are  men  ;  they  can  take  care  of 
themselves." 

"  But  Dwight " 

Her  self-possession  vanished. 

"■  Hush  !  "  she  whispered  with  a  quick  look 
around  her.     "  Do  not  mention  him.     I  have 


?»■ 


A  Feline  Touch. 


361 


like 


sent  him  awa}^  an  hour  ago  but  he  may  have 
come  back.     1  do  not  trust  him." 

This  last  clause  she  uttered  beneath  her 
breath  and  with  a  spasmodic  clutch  of  her 
hand  which  showed  she  spoke  involuntarily. 
I  was  moved  at  this.  I  began  to  hope  that 
Dwight  at  least,  was  not  all  that  his  mother 
would  have  him. 

**  And  yet  I  must  speak  of  him,"  said  I,  tak- 
ing out  the  letter  he  had  written  to  Miss 
Merriam.  *'  This  letter  addressed  to  one 
you  have  so  successfully  destroyed  seems  to 
show  that  he  returns  your  mistrust." 

She  almost  tore  it  out  of  my  hands. 

**  When  was  this  letter  received  ?  "  she  asked, 
reading  it  with  burning  eyes  and  writhing  lips. 

"  The  day  after  Miss  Grace  left  her  home." 

"  Then  she  never  saw  it  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Who  has  seen  it  ?  " 

"  Myself  and  you." 

"  No  one  else  ?  " 
,   **  No  one  but  the  writer." 
'  She  laughed. 

"  We  will  destroy  it,"  she  said  ;  and  deliber- 
ately tore  it  up. 


I 


362 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


I  stooped  and  picked  up  the  fragments. 

**  Ycu  forget,"  said  I,  '*  this  letter  may  be 
called  for  by  the  coroner.  It  is  known  that  I 
took  it  in  charge." 

"  I  might  better  have  burnt  it,"  she  hissed. 

"Not  so,  I  should  then  have  had  to  explain 
its  loss." 

Her  old  fear  came  back  into  her  eyes. 

**  Now  I  have  merely  to  give  it  up  and  leave 
it  to  Mr.  Dwight  Pollard  to  explain  it.  He 
doubtless  can." 

*'  My  son  will  never  betray  his  mother." 

"Yet  he  could  write  this  letter." 

She  frowned. 

"  Dwight  has  his  weakness,"  said  she. 

"  It  is  a  pity  his  weakness  did  not  lead  him 
to  send  this  letter  a  few  hours  soot  -  r." 

"  That  is  where  his  very  weakness  fails.  He 
struggles  because  he  knows  his  mother  partly, 
and  fails  because  he  does  not  know  her  wholly." 

"And  Guy?" 

"He  knows  me  better." 

The  3mile  with  which  this  was  said  was  the 
culminating  point  in  a  display  of  depravity 
such  as  I  had  never  beheld,  even  in  hovels  of 
acknowled*:;'^'^.'  vice.     Feeling  that  I  could  not 


i 


%Mlf,^ 


A  Fclint'!  Touch. 


3^3 


ay  be 
that  I 

ssed. 
xplain 


leave 
He 


r. 


>» 


a  him 

He 

)artly, 
oily." 


s  the 
avity 
el?  of 
1  not 


endure  much  more,  I  hastened  to  finish  the 
interview. 

"  Madam,"  said  I,  '*  by  your  own  acknowl- 
edgment you  deserve  neither  consideration  nor 
mercy.  What  leniency  I  then  show  will  be  for 
your  daughter  alone,  who,  in  so  far  as  I  can 
see,  is  innocent  and  undeserving  of  the  great 
retribution  which  I  could  so  easily  bring  upon 
this  family.  But  do  not  think  because  I  prom- 
ise to  suppress  your  name  from  the  account  I 
may  be  called  upon  to  give  the  coroner,  that 
your  sin  will  be  forgotten  by  Heaven,  or  this 
young  girl's  death  go  unavenged.  As  sure  as 
you  are  the  vilest  woman  I  ever  met,  will  suf- 
fering and  despair  overtake  you.  I  do  not 
know  when,  and  I  do  not  know  by  what 
means,  but  it  will  be  bitter  when  it  comes,  and 
the  hand  of  man  will  not  be  able  to  sn^e  you." 

But  it  was  as  if  I  had  not  spoken.  All  she 
seemed  to  hear,  all,  at  least,  that  she  paid  the 
least  attention  to,  was  the  promise  I  had  made. 

"You  are  decided,  then,  upon  secrecy?" 
she  asked. 

**  I  am  decided  upon  saying  nothing  that 
will  bring  your  name  ir  o  public  notice." 

Her  proud    manner   immediately  returned. 


64 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery. 


You  would  have  thought  she  had  never  suf- 
fered a  humiliation. 

''  But  how  will  you  account  for  your  interest 
in  this  young  person  ?  " 

"  By  telling  a  portion  of  the  truth.  I  shall 
say  that  my  attention  was  called  to  her  by  a 
letter  from  Mr.  Pollard  requesting  me  to  hunt 
her  up  and  take  care  of  her  after  he  was  dead. 
I  shall  not  say  he  called  her  his  grandchild 
unless  I  am  positively  forced  to  do  so,  nor  will 
I  mention  the  treatment  I  have  received  at 
your  hands." 

*'  And  the  woman  you  saw  ? " 

.*'  Is  your  business.  I  have  nothing  to  do 
with  her." 

The  shadow  which  till  this  moment  had 
rested  upon  her  haughty  brow,  cleared  away. 
With  a  quick  gesture,  from  which  she  could 
not  entirely  exclude  a  betrayal  of  triumph,  she 
d-'opped  the  cjrtain  across  that  charming 
picture  of  bridol  felicity  by  which  she  had  won 
so  much,  and  turning"  upon  me  with  all  the 
condescension  of  a  conqueror,  she  exclaimed  : 

"  I  once  flid  yovi  an  injustice,  Mr.  Barrows, 
and  called  you  «'i  name  that  was  but  little  com- 
plimentary to  your  cloth.  Allow  me  to  make 
such  e.i'iiends  as   1  can  and  call  you  what  you 


A  Feline  Touch, 


365 


^r  suf- 

iterest 

I  shall 
;r  by  a 
0  hunt 
3  dead, 
idchild 
lor  will 
ved  at 


^  to  do 

nt  had 
away, 
could 

Iph,  she 

|arming 
d  won 
all  the 

laimed  : 
rrows, 
e  corn- 
make 
at  you 


most  surely  are — the  most  generous  and  least 
vindictive  of  men." 

This  was  intolerable.  I  made  haste  to  leave 
the  room. 

"  Mrs.  Pollard,"  said  I,  "  no  amenities  can 
take  place  between  us.  From  this  hour  on  we 
are  strangers,  till  the  time  comes  when  we 
shall  appear  before  the  judgment-seat  of  God. 
In  that  day,  neither  you  nor  I  can  hold  back 
one  iota  of  the  truth.  Think  of  this,  and  re- 
pent your  part  in  this  awful  tragedy  of  sin,  if 
you  can."  And  I  turned  away  toward  the 
door. 

But  just  as  I  was  about  to  open  it,  it  swung 
slowly  ai^ide,  and  in  the  frame-work  made  by 
the  lintels,  I  saw  Guy  Pollard  standing  with  a 
quiet  look  of  inquiry  on  his  face. 

'*  Mother,"  said  he,  in  the  calmest  and  most 
courteous  of  tones,  ''  shall  I  let  this  gentleman 

The  reply  came  in  accents  equally  calm 
and  courteous  : 

"Certainly,  my  son." 

And  Guy  Pollard  made  me  a  deep  bow,  and 
drew  softly  aside  from  my  path. 

I  had  been  within  an  inch  of  my  death,  but 
it  scarcely  ruffled  me. 


f;= 


In 


m 
lit: 


XXVII. 


REPARATION. 


If  hearts  are  weak,  souls  should  at  least  be  strong. 

I  will  be  brief,  for  my  short  date  of  breath 

Is  not  so  long  as  is  a  tedious  tale. — Romeo  and  Juliet. 

LET  me  hasten  to  the  end. 
When  I  told  Mrs.  Pollard  that  I  would 
suppress  that  portion  of  the  truth  which  con- 
nected her  name  with  this  fatal  affair,  I  did  not 
of  course  mean  that  I  would  resort  to  any 
falsehood  or  even  prevarication.  I  merely  re- 
lied upon  the  improbability  of  my  being  ques- 
tioned close  enough  to  .necessitate  my  being 
obliged  to  reveal  the  astounding  facts  which 
made  this  matter  a  destructive  one  for  the 
Pollards.  And  I  was  right  in  my  calculations. 
Neither  socially,  nor  at  the  formal  inquiry  be- 
fore the  coroner,  was  any  question  raised  of 
relationship    between   the  dead   girl  and    the 

family   In   S ;    and   this    fact,   taken   with 

the  discreet  explanations  accorded  by  Dwight 
Pollard  of  his  father's,  and   afterwards  of  his 

366 


Reparation. 


367 


ET. 


would 
h  con- 
id  not 
p   any 
sly  re- 
ques- 
being 
which 
)r  the 
tions. 
ry  be- 
ed  of 
the 
with 
wight 
f  his 


own  interest  in  her,  as  shown  in  the  letter 
which  he  had  sent  to  her  address,  is  the  rea- 
son why  this  affair  passed  without  scandal  to 
the  parties  concerned. 

But  not  without  result ;  for  deep  down  in  the 
heart  of  one  person  an  influence  was  at  work, 
destined  ere  long  to  eventuate  in  the  tragedy 
to  which  these  lines  are  the  clue.  Remorse 
deep  as  my  nature  and  immovable  as  my  sin, 
has  gotten  hold  upon  me,  and  nothing  short 
of  death,  and  death  in  the  very  shape  from 
which  I  fled  in  such  a  cowardly  manner,  will  ever 
satisfy  my  soul  or  allay  that  burning  sense  of 
shame  and  regret  which  makes  me  fear  the  eye  of 
man  and  quake  at  the  thought  of  eternal  justice. 

For  in  a  final  interview  with  Dwight  Pollard 
I  have  become  convinced  that,  however  un- 
principled his  brother  might  be,  it  was  with  no 
intention  of- carrying  out  his  threats  that  he 
plunged  me  into  the  vat  on  that  fatal  night ; 
that,  recognizing  the  weakness  in  me,  he  had  re- 
sorted to  intimidation  to  ensure  his  ends  ;  and 
that  all  the  consequences  which  followed  might 
have  been  averted,  if  I  had  but  remained  true 
to  my  trust. 

Being  a  Christian   minister,  and  bound  by 


m 


»:, 


368 


r^^  Mz//  Mystery, 


my  creed  and  faith  to  resist  the  devil  and  face 
the  wrath  of  men,  my  dereliction  in  this  regard 
acquires  an  importance  not  to  be  measured  by 
the  ordinary  standard  of  law  or  social  usage. 
For,  when  I  failed  to  support  my  principles 
under  trial,  Christian  faith  was  betrayed  and 
the  avowed  power  of  God  put  to  mockery 
and  shame.  I  go,  therefore,  to  the  death  I 
then  shunned,  deliberately,  conscientiously, 
determinedly.  For  the  sake  of  God,  for  the 
sake  of  honor,  for  the  sake  of  those  higher 
principles  which  it  should  be  the  glory  of  men 
to  sMstaIn  at  all  risk  and  in  every  furnace  of 
affliction,  I  lay  down  youth,  love,  and  life,  confi- 
dent that  if  in  so  doing  I  rob  one  sweet  soul 
of  its  happiness,  I  sow  anew  in  other  hearts  the 
seed  of  that  stern  belief  in  God  and  the  re- 
quirements of  our  faith  which  my  cowardly  act 
must  have  gone  so  far  to  destroy. 

May  God  accept  the  sacrifice  in  the  spirit  in 
which  I  perform  it,  and  in  His  gracious  mercy 
make  light,  not  the  horrors  of  the  pit  into 
which  I  am  about  to  descend,  but  the  heart  of 
him  who  must  endure  them.  Whether  long 
or  short,  they  will  be  such  as  He  sends  me,  and 
the  end  must  be  peace.  \ 


XXVIII. 


TWO    OR    ONE. 


re- 
act 

it  In 


How  all  the  other  passions  fleet  to  air, 
As  doubtful  thoughts  and  rash  embrac'd  despair, 
And  shuddering  fear,  and  green-ey'd  jealousy. 
O  love,  be  moderate  ;  allay  thy  ecstasy. 

— Mer.  of  Venice. 

I  HAD  finished  It ;  the  last  line  had  been 
read,  and  I  sat  In  a  maze  of  astonishment 
and  awe.  What  my  thoughts  were,  what  my 
judgment  upon  this  astounding  act  of  self- 
destruction  for  conscience  sake.  It  will  not  in- 
terest you  to  know.  In  a  matter  so  compli- 
cated with  questions  of  right  and  wrong,  each 
man  must  feel  for  himself,  and  out  of  his  own 
nature  adjudge  praise,  or  express  censure  ;  I, 
Constance  Sterling,  shall  do  neither ;  I  can 
only  wonder  and  be  still. 

One  point,  however.  In  this  lengthy  confes- 
sion I  will  allude  to,  as  It  Involves  a  fact.  Mr. 
Barrows  says  that  he  goes  to  his  death,  the 
same  death  from  which  he  fled  when  he  yielded 

369 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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11.25 


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Z   1^    |2.0 


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Sdeaices 
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\ 


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23  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WHSTM.N.Y.  MSIO 

(716)  •72-4303 


i\ 


0 


.* 


^ 


4^ 


370 


The  Mill  Mystery, 


w 


to  the  threats  of  Guy  Pollard  and  gave  up  the 
will.  He  expected,  therefore,  to  find  the  vat 
dry,  and  looked  forward  to  hours,  if  not  days, 
of  long-drawn  suffering  in  a  spot  devoid  of 
warmth,  light,  water,  and  food.  His  injunction 
to  Ada  in  that  last  letter  of  his — not  to  make 
any  move  to  find  him  for  ten  days — favors  this 
idea,  and  proves  what  his  expectations  were. 

But,  by  the  mercy  of  God,  the  vat  had  been 
half  filled  with  water  in  the  interim  which 
had  elapsed  between  his  first  and  last  visit  to 
the  mill,  and  the  prison  thus  becoming  a  cis- 
tern, he  must  have  come  to  his  end  in  a  few 
moments  after  his  fatal  plunge.  It  was  the 
one  relief  which  a  contemplation  of  this  tragedy 
brought  to  my  overwrought  mind. 

But  with  the  next  day  came  a  reaction  ;  and 
with  a  heart  full  of  rejoicing,  I  prepared  to 
communicate  to  Dwight  Pollard  the  fact  of  his 
release  from  the  dominion  of  Rhoda  Colwell. 
For  whether  this  record  of  ine  past  showed 
him  to  be  a  man  worthy  of  full  honor  or  not, 
it  certainly  sufficed  to  exonerate  him  from  all 
suspicion  of  being  the  direct  cause  of  David 
Barrow's  death,  and  I  knew  her  well  enough, 
or  thought   I   did,  to  feel  certain  that  no  re- 


Two  or  One, 


371 


venge,  unless  the  greatest,  would  ever  satisfy 
her,  and  that  in  losing  her  hold  upon  his  life 
and  love,  she  would  make  no  attempt  that 
would  merely  darken  his  name  before  the 
world.  It  was  therefore  with  a  fearless  heart 
I  penned  the  following  lines. 

Miss  Colwell  : 

Your  suspicions  were  unfounded.  I  have  Mr.  Barrov/s* 
own  words  to  the  effect  that  he  meditated  death  by  im- 
prisonment in  the  vat.  I  go  to  acquaint  Dwight  Pollard 
with  the  fact  that  any  accusation  on  your  part  must  fail 
before  the  minute  and  circumstantial  confession  which 
Mr.  Barrows  has  left  behind  him. 

Signing  this  letter,  I  despatched  it  at  once 
to  its  destination  ;  then  taking  the  important 
manuscript  in  my  hand,  I  set  out  for  the  Pol- 
lard mansion. 

It  was  a  day  full  of  sunshine  and  promise. 
As  I  sped  through  the  streets  and  approached 
that  end  of  the  town  which  hitherto  it  had 
taken  all  my  courage  to  face,  I  was  astonished 
at  the  lightness  of  my  own  heart  and  the 
beneficent  aspect  which  every  object  about  me 
seemed  to  have  acquired.  Even  the  place 
I  had  come  to  visit  looked  less  dreary  than 
usual,  and  I  found  myself  in  the  grounds  and 


372 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


\  i 


"  I 


half  way  up  the  stoop,  before  I  realized  the 
least  falling  of  that  shadow  which  seemed  in- 
separable from  this  particular  spot.  And  even 
now  it  only  came  with  the  thought  of  Guy, 
whose  possible  presence  at  the  door  would  be 
any  thing  but  desirable.  But  my  errand  being 
one  of  peace  I  was  enabled  to  contemplate 
even  this  contingency  with  equanimity,  and 
was  about  to  ring  the  bell  with  a  trembling 
but  determined  hand,  when  the  door  suddenly 
opened  and  Dwight  Pollard  stood  before  me. 

The  look  of  surprise  and  delight  which 
he  gave  me  brought  the  color  to  my  cheeks. 

**  Ah,  what  a  pleasure!"  he  murmured. 
Then  with  a  quick  look  in  my  face,  added 
earnestly,  "You  bring  good  news." 

**The  best,"  I  answered  cheerily,  and  follow- 
ing him  in,  I  took  my  stand  once  more  in  that 
dismal  parlor  where  weeks  ago  I  had  received 
my  first  intimation  of  the  feeling  which  his 
every  look  and  gesture  now  conveyed. 

"Mr.  Pollard,"  I  now  managed  to  say  with 
a  certain  dignity,  "you  see  me  here  because 
Providence  has  lately  put  into  my  hands  a 
document  which  completely  exonerates  you 
from    the  charges  which  Rhoda  Colwell  has 


wo  or 


One, 


73 


his 


threatened  to  make  against  you.  Read  it,  and 
when  you  understand  the  tragedy  we  so  much 
deplore,  we  will  see  how  much  or  how  little  can 
be  done  with  the  lives  it  has  so  deeply  affected." 
And  placing  the  thickly  written  sheets  in  his 
hands  I  withdrew  to  the  first  window  I  saw 
and  mechanically  threw  aside  the  curtains  that 
hid  it. 

The  sight  that  met  my  gaze  made  me  for 
an  instant  forget  the  importance  of  what  I  had 
just  done.  The  window  I  had  chosen  was  the 
one  which  looked  into  the  conservatory,  and 
the  picture  which  Mr.  Barrows  describes  as 
having  seen  from  this  spot  was  then  and  there 
before  my  eyes.  The  tropical  growth,  the 
gorgeous  blossoms,  even  the  beautiful  woman 
and  the  sturdy  man.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harring- 
ton were  lovers,  then,  still.  The  mother's 
death  and  that  of  the  devoted  clergyman  had 
not  served  to  reveal  the  secret  which  secured 
the  happiness  of  this  bright,  attractive,  if 
somewhat  worldly,  pair.  I  own  I  was  glad  of 
this,  little  as  I  felt  myself  in  sympathy  with 
the  radiant  but  superficial  Agnes.  Youth, 
love,  and  joy  are  so  precious  that  it  lightens 
the  heart  to  behold  their  sunshine  even  on  the 


374 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


1 


^^HB  wlf 

^H\i 

I 

i 

faces  of  those  whose  characters  we  do  not 
envy. 

Nevertheless,  the  thoughts  suggested  by  this 
unexpected  scene  did  not  long  serve  to  distract 
me  from  the  more  serious  matter  in  hand. 
Dropping  the  curtains,  I  cast  one  look  toward 
Mr.  Pollard.  He  was  sitting  with  his  face 
bent  over  the  manuscript,  a  deep  corrugation 
marked  his  brow,  and  a  settled  look  of  pain 
his  mouth.  I  turned  away  again  ;  I  could  not 
bear  that  look  ;  all  my  strength  was  needed  for 
the  effort  which  it  might  possibly  be  my  duty 
to  make.  I  sat  down  in  a  remote  corner  and 
diligently  set  my  soul  to  patience. 

It  was  well,  for  my  suspense  was  long,  so 
long  that  hope  and  courage  began  to  fail  and 
an  inward  trembling  to  take  the  place  of  the  joy- 
ous emotions  with  which  I  had  placed  this  con- 
fession in  hit;  hands.  Nevertheless,  it  came  to 
an  enJ  at  last,  and,  with  an  agitation  easy  to 
conceive,  I  heard  him  roll  the  manuscript  up, 
rise,  and  approach  to  where  I  sat.  I  did  not 
look  up,  I  could  not ;  but  I  felt  his  gaze  burn- 
ing through  my  half-closed  lids,  and  terrified 
lest  I  should  reveal  my  weakness  and  my 
hopes,  I  set  my  lips  together,  and  stilled  the 


Two  or  One. 


375 


not 


joy- 
con- 
le  to 
[y  to 
up, 
not 
lurn- 
kfied 
my 
the 


beatings  of  my  heart,  till  I  must  have  struck 
his  sense  with  the  chill  and  immobility  of  a 
totally  insensible  woman.  The  despair  which 
the  sight  caused  him,  showed  itself  in  his  tone 
when  he  spoke. 

"  You  share  my  own  opinion  of  myself," 
said  he.  "You  consider  me  the  destroyer  of 
Mr.  Barrows." 

I  looked  up.  What  grief,  what  shame,  what 
love  I  beheld  in  the  face  above  me.  Slowly  I 
shook  my  head. 

"  Mr.  Barrows  does  not  accuse  you,"  said  I. 
Then,  determined  to  be  truthful  to  the  core  at 
all  risks  and  at  all  hazards,  I  added  earnestly, 
"  But  you  were  to  blame  ;  greatly  to  blame  ;  I 
shall  never  hide  that  fact  from  you  or  from 
myself.  I  should  be  unworthy  of  your  esteem 
if  I  did." 

"Yes,"  he  earnestly  assented,  "and  I  would 
be  less  than  a  man  if  I  did  not  agree  with  you." 
Then,  in  a  lower  tone  and  with  greater  earnest- 
ness yet,  continued,  "  It  is  not  pleasant  for  a 
man  to  spead  ill  of  his  own  flesh  and  blood  ; 
but  after  having  read  words  as  condemnatory 
as  these,  it  may  be  pardoned  me,  perhaps,  if  I 
speak  as  much  of  the  truth  as  is  necessary  to 


376 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


i.i 


I!    i) 


present  myself  in  a  fair  light  to  the  womun 
upon  whose  good  opinion  rests  all  my  future 
happiness.     Constance,  I  love  you " 

But  at  this  word  I  hadjiurriedly  risen. 

"  Oh  !  "  I  somewhat  incoherently  exclaimed  ; 
"  not  here  !  not  under  your  own  roof  !" 

But  at  his  look  I  sank  back. 

"Yes,"  he  imperatively  cried,  "here  and 
now.  I  cannot  wait  another  day,  another 
hour.  My  love  for  you  is  too  great,  too  ab- 
sorbing, for  any  paltry  considerations  to  inter- 
pose themselves  upon  my  attention  now.  I 
must  tell  you  what  you  are  to  me,  and  ask  you, 
as  you  are  a  just  and  honest  woman,  to  listen 
while  I  lay  bare  to  you  my  life — the  life  1  long 
to  consecrate  to  your  happiness,  Constance." 

i  looked  up. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  murmured  ;  but  whether 
in  return  for  my  look  or  the  smile  which  his 
look  involuntarily  called  up,  I  cannot  say,  for 
he  went  on  instantly  in  continuation  of  his 
former  train  of  thought,  "  Constance,  you  have 
read  this  confession  from  Mr.  Barrows  which 
you  have  just  placed  in  my  hands  ?" 

"  Yes,"  I  nodded  gravely. 

"  You  can,  then,  understand  what  a  dilemma 


i 


700  or 


One. 


377 


»i 


have 
^hich 


i 


we  v/ere  in  some  three  months  ago.  My  sister 
had  attracted  the  notice  of  an  English  aristo- 
crat. He  loved  her  and  wished  to  marry  her. 
We  admired  him — or  rather  we  admired  his 
position  (I  would  be  bitterly  t^ue  at  this 
hour)  and  wished  to  see  the  union  effected. 
But  there  was  a  secret  in  our  family,  which 
if  known,  would  make  such  a  marriage  impos- 
sible. A  crime  perpetrated  before  my  birth 
had  attached  disgrace  to  our  name  and  race, 
and  Mr.  Harrington  is  a  man  to  fly  disgrace 
quicker  than  he  would  death.  Miss  Sterling, 
it  would  be  useless  for  me  to  try  to  make  my- 
self out  better  than  I  am.  When  I  heard  that 
my  father,  whom  I  am  just  beginning  to  revere 
but  of  whom  in  those  days  I  had  rather  a  careless 
opinion,  was  determined  to  acknowledge  his 
convict  son  through  the  daughter  which  had 
been  sent  over  here,  I  revolted.  Not  that  I 
begrudged  this  young  girl  the  money  he 
wished  to  leave  her, — though  from  a  some- 
what morbid  idea  of  reparation  which  my 
father  possessed,  he  desired  to  gi/e  her  an 
amount  that  would  materially  affect  our  for- 
tunes— but  that  I  loved  my  sister,  and  above 
all  loved  the  proud  and  isolated  position  we 


k 


# 


\ 


Z7^ 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


W 


\\  1 


had  obtained  in  society,  and  could  not  endure 
the  results  which  the  revelation  of  such  a  stain 
in  our  family  must  produce.  Not  my  mother, 
whose  whole  life  since  her  marriage  had  been 
one  haughty  protest  against  this  secret  shame, 
nor  Guy,' with  all  his  cynicism  and  pride,  felt 
stronger  on  this  point  than  I.  To  my  warped 
judgment  any  action  within  the  bounds  of  rea- 
son seemed  justifiable  that  would  prevent  my 
dying  father  from  bringing  this  disgrace  upon 
his  children  ;  and  being  accustomed  to  defer 
to  my  mother's  judgments  and  desires, — she 
was  not  only  a  powerful  woman,  Constance, 
but  possessed  of  a  strange  fascination  for 
those  she  loved  and  sought  to  govern — I 
lent  myself  sufficiently  to  her  schemes  to 
stand  neutral  in  the  struggle  between  my 
father  s  wishes  and  her  determination,  though 
that  father  would  often  turn  upon  me  with  a 
gaze  of  entreaty  that  went  to  my  heart.  That 
he  had  taken  advantage  of  his  last  journey  to 
Boston  to  have  a  new  will  drawn,  and  that  his 
only  desire  now  was  for  an  opportunity  to  get 
this  same  safely  transferred  into  the  hands  of 
his  lawyer,  I  never  suspected  any  more  than 
did  my  mother  or  brother.     We  thought  that 


*••' 


Two  or  One, 


379 


indure 
1  stain 
lother, 
i  been 
shame, 
de,  felt 
warped 
of  rea- 
ent  my 
ce  upon 
;o  defer 
£S, — she 
nstance, 
on    for 
►vern — I 
imes  to 
ien    my 
though 
with  a 
.     That 
irney  to 
"that  his 
to  get 
ands  of 
re  than 
ht  that 


as  far  as  the  past  was  concerned  we  were 
secure,  and  that  if  we  could  prevent  an  in- 
terview between  him  and  Mr.  Nicholls,  the 
future  would  likewise  be  safe  from  a  discov- 
ery of  our  secret.  It  was  therefore  a  terrible 
shock  to  my  mother  and  afterwards  to  me 
when  we  learned  that  he  had  already  accom- 
plished the  act  we  so  much  dreaded  and  that 
the  clergyman  we  had  called  in  at  my  father's 
urgent  request,  hnd  been  entrusted  with  the 
paper  that  was  to  proclaim  our  shame  to  the 
world.  But  the  disappointment,  great  as  it 
was,  had  little  time  to  exert  its  force  on 
me,  for  with  my  brother's  recital  of  what 
had  taken  place  at  my  father's  death-bed  there 
cam.e  a  new  dread  which  I  find  it  difficult  to 
name  but  which  you  will  understand  when  I 
say  that  it  led  me  to  give  Mr.  Barrows  the 
warning  of  which  he  has  spoken.  My  brother 
— I  cannot  speak  of  him  with  calmness — is 
a  man  to  be  feared.  Miss  Sterling.  Not  that 
I  would  not  be  a  match  for  him  in  all  matters 
of  open  enmity ;  but  in  ways  of  secrecy  and 
deep  dealing,  he  is  master,  and  all  the  more  to 
be  dreaded  that  he  makes  it  impossible  for  one 
to  understand  him  or  measure  the  depths  of 


^ 


h 


380 


T/ie  Mill  Mystery. 


turpitude  to  which  he  would  descend.  When, 
therefore  I  heard  him  say  he  should  have  that  will 
back  before  it  could  pass  into  the  hands  of 
Mr.  Nicholls,  I  trembled  ;  and  as  the  night 
passed  and  morning  came  without  showing 
any  diminiution  in  the  set  determination  of  his 
expression,  I  decided  upon  visiting  Mr.  Bar- 
rows, in  the  hope  of  influencing  him  to  return 
the  will  of  his  own  accord.  But  I  soon  saw 
that  in  spite  of  the  weakness  I  detected  Jn  him 
there  was  small  prospect  of  his  doing  this  ; 
and  turning  my  steps  home  again,  I  confronted 
my  mother  and  my  brother  and  asked  them 
what  they  meant  to  do  ;  they  told  me,  that  is, 
they  told  me  partly ;  and  I,  with  that  worse 
dread  in  my  soul,  was  fain  to  be  satisfied  with 
the  merely  base  and  dishonorable  scheme  they 
meditated.  To  take  Mr.  Barrows  at  a  disadvan- 
tage, to  argue  with  him,  threaten  him,  and 
perhaps  awe  him  by  place  and  surroundings  to 
surrender  to  them  the  object  of  their  desires, 
did  not  seem  to  me  so  dreadful,  when  I  thought 
of  what  they  might  have  done  or  might  yet 
attempt  to  do  if  I  stood  in  their  way  too 
much.  So,  merely  stipulating  i;hat  they  would 
allow  me  to  accompany  them  to  the  mill,  I 


Two  or  Oiie, 


381 


When, 
hat  will 
inds  of 
I   night 
ihowing 
n  of  his 
/Ir.  Bar- 
)  return 
)on  saw 
d,in  him 
ig  this  ; 
nfronted 
ed  them 
that  is, 
It  worse 
ied  with 
inie  they 
lisadvan- 
im,   and 
dings  to 
r  desires, 
thought 
light  yet 
way  too 
ey  would 
mill,  1 


let  matters  take  their  course,  and  true  to  my 
own  secret  desire  to  retain  their  confidence 
and  so  save  him,  and  if  possible  them,  from  any 
act  that  would  entail  consequences  of  a  really 
serious  nature,  I  gave  them  my  assistance  to 
the  extent  of  receivincf  Mr.  Barrows  at  the  door 
and  conducting  him  through  the  mill  to  the 
room  which  my  brother  had  designated  to  me 
as  the  one  in  which  they  proposed  to  hold 
their  conference. 

"  But  the  task  was  uncongenial,  and  at  the 
first  words  which  Guy  chose  to  employ  against 
Mr.  Barrows,  I  set  down  my  lantern  on  the 
floor  and  escaped  to  the  outer  air  again. 
Money,  station,  fame  before  the  world,  seemed 
to  me  but  light  matters  at  that  moment,  and 
if  I  had  followed  my  first  impulse  I  should 
have  rushed  back  to  the  assistance  of  Mr.  Bar- 
rows. But  considerations  terrible  and  strange 
prevented  me  from  following  this  impulse. 
In  the  first  place  I  was  not  myself  free  from  a 
desire  to  see  the  contents  of  the  will  and  judge 
for  myself  to  what  extent  my  father  had  re- 
vealed our  disgrace  to  the  world  ;  and  second- 
ly, the  habit  of  years  is  not  broken  in  an 
instant,  and  this  mother  who  gave  her  coun- 


382 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


11} 


i  i 


I 


I 


tenance  to  an  act  I  so  heartily  disapproved, 
had  for  all  her  reserve  and  a  nature  seriously 
differing  from  my  own,  ever  been  the  domina- 
tor  of  my  actions  and  the  controlling  force  of 
my  life.  I  could  not  brave  her,  not  yet,  not 
while  any  hope  remained  of  righting  matters, 
without  a  demonstration  that  would  lead  to 
open  hostilities.  So  with  a  weakness  I  now 
wonder  at,  I  let  the  minutes  go  by  till  the 
sound  of  coming  steps  warned  me  that  my 
brother  was  at  hand.  What  he  told  me  was 
brief  and  to  the  point.  He  had  obtained  the 
clergyman's  consent  to  read  the  will  and  was 
on  his  way  to  get  it.  '*  But,  Mr.  Barrows?"  I 
inquired.  "  Is  in  the  cellar  there  with  mother." 
"  The  cellar  '■.  "  I  repeated.  But  he  was  already 
in  the  yard,  on  his  way  to  the  town.  I  was 
disturbed.  The  calmmess  of  his  tone  had  not 
deceived  me.  I  felt  that  something  was 
wrong ;  what  I  could  not  tell.  Taking  the 
lantern  he  had  left  behind  him,  I  made  my 
way  to  the  cellar.  It  seemed  empty.  But 
when  I  had  reached  the  other  end  1  found  my- 
self confronted  by  a  ghostly  figure  in  which  I 
was  forced  to  recognize  my  mother,  though  the 
sight  of  her  in  the  masquerade  costume  she 


Two  or  Ofte, 


383 


I 


had  adopted,  gave  ne  a  shock  serious  as  the 
interests  involved.  But  this  surprise,  great  as 
it  was,  was  soon  lost  in  that  of  finding  her 
alone  ;  and  when  to  my  hurried  inquiry  as  to 
where  Mr.  Barrows  was,  she  pointed  to  the 
vat,  you  can  imagine  the  tide  of  em,otions  that 
swept  over  me.  But  no,  that  is  impossible. 
They  were  not  what  you  would  have  felt,  they 
were  not  what  I  would  feel  now.  Mingled 
with  my  shame  and  the  indignant  protest  of 
my  manhood  against  so  unworthy  an  exercise 
of  power,  was  that  still  dominating  instinct 
of  dread  which  any  interference  with  my 
mother's  plans  or  wishes  had  always  inspired  ; 
and  so  when  I  learned  that  the  worst  was  over 
and  that  Mr.  Barrows  would  be  released  on 
Guy's  return,  I  subdued  my  natural  desire  to 
rescue  him  and  went  away,  little  realizing  that 
in  thus  allying  myself  with  his  persecutors,  I 
had  laid  the  foundations  of  a  remorse  that 
would  embitter  my  whole  after  existence.  The 
return  of  my  brother  with  the  will  caused  me 
fresh  emotions.  As  soon  as  I  saw  him  I  knew 
there  was  a  struggle  before  me  ;  and  in  hand- 
ing him  back  the  lantern,  I  took  occasion  to 
ask   if  he    had    opened    the    document.       He 


384 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


■ii 


1 1 

I 


I^H  i^^Se 

HI  j 

S  f  wm,.  \ 

i^H'      ^^^^' 

1 

looked  at  me  a  moment  before  replying  and 
his  lip  took  a  sinister  curl.  '  I  have,'  he  said. 
*  And  what  does  it  contain  ? '  '  What  we 
wish,'  he  answered,  with  a  strange  emphasis. 
I  was  too  much  astonished  to  speak.  I  could 
not  believe  this  to  be  true,  and  when,  Mr.  Bar- 
rows having  been  released,  we  had  all  returned 
home,  I  asked  to  see  the  will  and  judge  for 
myself.  But  Guy  refused  to  show  it.  '  We 
are  going  to  return  it,'  he  said,  and  said  no 
more.  Nor  would  my  mother  give  me  any 
further  information.  Either  I  had  betrayed 
myself  in  the  look  I  gave  Guy  on  his  return  to 
the  mill,  or  else  some  underlying  regard  for 
my  feelings  had  constrained  her  to  spare  me 
actual  participance  in  a  fraud.  At  all  events, 
I  did  not  know  the  truth  till  the  real  will  had 
been  destroyed  and  the  substituted  one  placed 
in  Mr.  Nicholls'  hands,  and  then  it  was  told  to 
me  in  a  way  to  confound  my  sense  of  right  and 
make  me  think  it  would  be  better  to  let  mat- 
ters proceed  to  this  false  issue,  than  by  a 
public  acknowledgment  of  the  facts,  bring 
down  upon  me  and  mine  the  very  disgrace 
from  which  I  had  been  so  desirous  of  es- 
caping.    I  was  ca-  ght   in  the  toils  you   see, 


Two  or  One, 


385 


g  and 
e  said, 
at  we 
Dhasis. 
could 
lT.  Bar- 
turned 
ge  for 

aid  no 
le  any 
;trayed 
turn  to 
rd  for 
re  me 
vents, 
11  had 
Dlaced 
told  to 
It  and 
t  mat- 
by   a 
bring 
sgrace 
of   es- 
u   see, 


\ 


and  though  it  would  have  been  a  man's 
part  to  have  broken  through  every  constraint 
and  proclaimed  myself  once  and  for  all  on  the 
side  of  right,  I  had  nothing  whereby  to  show 
what  the  last  wishes  of  my  father  had  been, 
and  could  only  say  what  would  ruin  us  without 
benefitting  the  direct  object  of  those  wishes. 
I  therefore  kept  their  counsel  and  my  own  ; 
stilling  my  conscience  when  it  spoke  too  loud, 
by  an  inward  promise  to  be  not  only  a  friend 
to  my  older  brother's  child,  but  to  part  with 
the  bulk  of  my  fortune  to  her.  That  she 
would  need  my  friendship  I  felt,  as  the  letter  I 
wrote  to  her  shows,  but  that  such  evil  would 
come  upon  her  as  did,  or  that  my  delay  to  see 
her  would  make  it  impossible  for  me  ever  to 
behold  her  in  this  world,  I  had  yet  too  much 
filial  regard  to  imagine.  I  was  consequently 
overwhelmed  by  the  news  of  her  death,  and 
though  I  never  knew  the  whole  truth  till  now, 
I  was  conscious  of  a  distrust  so  great  that  from 
that  day  to  the  worser  ones  which  followed,  I 
never  looked  at  those  nearest  to  me  without  a 
feeling  of  deep  separation  such  as  is  only  made 
by  some  dark  and  secret  crime.  I  was  alone, 
or  so  I  felt,  and  was  gradually  becoming  mor- 


386 


Ttu  Mill  Mystery. 


.'|H|E.'< 

1 

11 

H 

i|i 

i  i 


I 


bid  from  a  continual  brooding  on  this  subject, 
when  the  great  blow  fell  which  changed  what- 
ever vague  distress  I  felt  into  an  active  remorse 
and  positive  fear.  Mr.  Barrows  was  found 
dead,  drowned  in  the  very  vat  into  which  my 
brother  had  forced  him  a  month  or  so  before. 
What  did  it  mean  ?  It  was  impossible  for  me 
to  guess  the  truth,  but  I  could  not  but  recog- 
nize the  fact  that  we  were  more  or  less  respon- 
sible for  his  death  ;  that  the  frenzy  which  had 
doubtless  led  to  this  tragedy  was  the  outcome 
of  the  strain  which  had  been  put  upon  his 
nerves,  and  though  personally  I  had  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  placing  him  in  the  vat,  I  was 
certainly  responsible  for  allowing  him  to  remain 
there  a  moment  after  I  knew  where  he  was. 
It  was,  therefore,  with  the  deepest  horror  and 
confusion  that  I  rushed  home  with  this  news, 
only  to  find  that  it  had  outstripped  me,  and 
that  my  mother,  foreseeing  the  dangers  which 
this  death  might  bring  upon  us,  had  succumbed 
to  the  shock,  and  lay,  as  you  know,  in  a  most 
alarming  condition  herself.  The  perilous  posi- 
tion into  which  we  were  thrown  by  these  two 
fatal  occurrences  necessitated  a  certain  confi- 
dence between  my  brother  and   myself.     To 


Two  or  One. 


387 


watch  our  mother,  and  stifle  any  unguarded 
expressions  into  which  she  might  be  betrayed, 
to  watch  you,  and  when  we  saw  it  was  too  late 
to  prevent  your  sharing  our  secret,  to  make  our 
hold  upon  you  such  that  you  would  feel  it  to 
your  own  advantage  to  keep  it  with  us,  was 
perhaps  only  pardonable  in  persons  situated  as 
we  were.  But,  Constance,  while  with  Guy  the 
feeling  that  made  this  last  task  easy  was  one 
of  selfish  passion  only,  mine  from  the  first  pos- 
sessed a  depth  and  fervency  which  made  the 
very  thought  of  wooing  you  seem  a  desecration 
and  a  wrong.  For  already  had  your  fine  quali- 
ties produced  their  effect,  and  in  the  light  of 
your  high  and  lofty  nature,  my  own  past  looked 
deformed  and  dark.  And  when  the  worst 
came,  and  Rhoda  Colwell's  threats  put  a  seem- 
ingly immovable  barrier  between  us,  this  love 
which  had  sprung  up  in  a  very  nightmare  of 
trouble,  only  seemed  to  take  deeper  and  more 
lasting  root,  and  I  vowed  that  whether  doomed 
to  lifelong  regret  or  not,  I  would  live  worthy  of 
you,  and  be  in  misery  what  I  could  so  easily  be  in 
joy,  the  man  you  could  honor,  if  not  love. 
That  this  hour  would  ever  come  I  dared  not 
dream,  but  now  that  it  has,  can  you,  will  you 


388 


The  Mill  Mystery. 


:I4      I 


give  me  so  much  as  you  have,  and  not  give  me 
more  ?  I  know  I  have  no  right  to  ask  any 
thing  from  you  ;  that  the  secrets  of  our  family 
are  a  burden  which  any  woman  might  well 
shrink  from  sharing,  but  if  you  do  not  turn 
from  me,  will  you  turn  from  them  ?  Love  is 
such  a  help  to  the  burdened,  and  I  love  you  so 
fondly,  so  reverently." 

He  was  on  his  knees ;  his  forehead  was 
pressed  against  my  arm.  The  emotion  which 
shook  his  whole  body  communicated  itself  to 
I  felt  that  whatever  his  past  weaknesses 


me. 


had  been,  he  possessed  a  character  capable  of 
the  noblest  development,  and,  yielding  to  the 
longing  with  which  my  whole  being  was  ani- 
mated, I  was  about  to  lay  my  hand  upon  his 
head,  when  he  lifted  his  face  and,  gazing  earn- 
estly at  me,  said : 

"  One  rnomeni': ;  there  is  yet  a  cloud  which 
ought  to  be  blown  away  from  between  us — 
Rhoda  Colwell.  I  loved  her ;  I  sought  her 
love ;  but  oiice  gained,  my  eyes  opened.  I  saw 
her  imperfections ;  I  felt  the  evil  in  her  nature. 
I  knew  if  I  married  her,  I  should  ruin  my  life. 
I  left  her.  I  seemed  to  have  no  choice,  for  my 
love  died  with  my  esteem,  c^nd  she  w^s  not  a 


Two  or  One. 


389 


ve  me 
^  any 
"amily 
well 
:  turn 
ove  is 
^ou  so 

I  was 
which 
elf  to 
lesses 
bleof 

0  the 
5  ani- 
n  his 
earn- 

vhich 

us — 

her 

1  saw 
ture. 

life. 
)r  my 
lot  ai 


woman  to  marry  without  love.  Could  I  have 
done  differently,  Constance  ?  " 

I  answered  as  my  whole  heart  inclined  me 
to.  I  could  not  refuse  this  love  coming  into 
my  desolate  life.  It  seemed  to  be  mine. 
Whatever  trials,  fear,  or  disquietude  it  might 
bring,  the  joy  of  it  was  great  enough  10  make 
these  very  trials  desirable,  if  only  to  prove  to 
him  and  me  that  the  links  which  bound  us 
were  forged  from  truest  metal,  without  any 
base  alloy  to  mar  their  purity  and  undermine 
their  strength. 

And  so  that  spot  of  gloom,  which  had  been 
the  scene  of  so  much  that  was  dark  and  dire- 
ful, became  the  witness  of  a  happiness  which 
seemed  to  lift  it  out  of  the  veil  of  reserve  in 
which  it  had  been  shrouded  for  so  long,  and 
make  of  the  afternoon  sun,  which  at  that  mo- 
ment streamed  in  through  the  western  win- 
dows, a  signal  of  peace,  whose  brightness  as 
yet  has  never  suffered  change  or  eclipse. 

THE    END, 


IH  *' 

m 

.|.  il' 

H 

i. 

H 

! 

1 

1 

1 

f           1 
^           i 

THE    TRAVELLERS'    SERIES. 

SKETCHES  OF  PEOPLE  AND   PLACES. 

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trations  from  designs  by  Charles  Gasche. 

"  Mr.  Robinson's  narratives  exhibit  a  freshness  and  glow  of  delineation  founded 
on  a  certain  novelty  of  adventure  which  commands  the  attention  of  the  reader 
and  makes  his  story  as  attractive  as  a  romance." — X.  )'.  Tribune. 

2  ITALIAN  RAMBLES.   By  James  Jackson  Jarves,  author  of  "  The 

Art  Idea,"  "  Italian  Sights,"  etc. 

*'  Picturesque  and  v!  -id  descriptions  of  people  and  places  in  out-of-the-way 
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based  on  a  sojourn  of  a  quarter  ot  a  century,  of  the  country  of  which  he  writes." — 
Chicago  Times. 

3  STUDIES  OF  PARIS.      By  Edmondo  de  Amicis,  author  of  "  Con- 

stantinople,"    "  Holland    and    Its   People,"  "  Spain   and    the    Span- 
iards," etc. 

"  De  Amicis  has  comprehended  the  manifold  amazement,  the  potent  charm 
of  Paris  as  no  writer  befoie  him  has  done." — Pressy  Portland. 

4  THE   ABODE  OF  SNOW.      Observations  of  a  tour  from  Chinese 

Thibet  to  the  valleys  of  the  Himalayas.     By  Andrew  Wilson. 

*'  Worthy  of  the  highest  praise.  There  is  not  a  page  in  the  handsome  volume  of 
nearly  500  pages  which  will  not  repav  perusal,  n  *  *  He  describes  all  he  meets 
with  on  his  way  with  inimitable  ^\i\r\X..^^— London  Athenceuin. 

5  A  LADY'S  LIFE  IN  THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS.     By  Isa- 

bella Bird,  author  of  "  Six  Months  in  the  Sandwich  Islands,"  "  Un- 
beaten Tracks  in  Japan,"  etc. 

"  Miss  Bird  is  an  ideal  writer.  *  *  *  She  has  regard  to  the  essentials  of  a 
scene  or  episode,  and  describes  these  with  a  simplicity  that  is  as  effective  as  it  is 
artless." — London  Spectator. 

6  TENT  LIFE  IN  SIBERIA,  AND  ADVENTURES  AMONG 

THE  KORAKS  AND  OTHER  TRIBES  IN  KAM- 
TCHATKA  AND  NORTHERN  ASIA.  By  George  Ken- 
nan.     Seventh  edition. 

The  London  Athenaum  says:  "  We  strongly  recommend  this  book  as  one  of  the 
most  entertaining  volumes  of  travel  that  have  appeared  for  some  years." 

The  London  Spectator  says  it  is  "  racy,  clear,  full  of  humor,  and  full  of  interest." 

7  BY-WAYS  OF  NATURE  AND  LIFE.     By  Clarence  Deming. 

"  Some  capital  sketches  penned  in  out-of-the-way  places."— J^^j/'w7«jj'^r/?^7'jVM;. 

8  CUBAN  SKETCHES.     By  James  W.  Steele. 

'*  Written  with  much  spirit  and  inimitable  powers  of  description."— C/««'««rt// 
Commercial. 


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I 


These  steamers  are  built  01  iron,  in  water-tight  compartments,  and 
are  furnished  with  every  requisite  to  make  the  passage  across  the  Atlantic 
both  safe  and  agreeable,  having  bath-room,  smoking-room,  drawing-room, 
piano,  and  library ;  also  experienced  surgeon,  stewardess,  and  caterer  on 
each  steamer.  The  state-rooms  are  all  upper-deck,  thus  insuring  those 
greatest  of  all  luxuries  at  sea — perfect  ventilation  and  light. 

Cabin  passage  (according  to  state-room),  $60,  $80, 
and  $100  ;  intermediate,  $40;  steerage  at  low  rates. 

OFFICE,  No.  29  BROADWAY,         > 

a-TJi03sr  &  00. 


E 


\MERS. 


iRPOOL. 

6,500  Tons. 
3,720      " 
3,376      " 


partments,  and 
ass  the  Atlantic 

drawing-room, 
and  caterer  on 

insuring  those 


),    $60,   $80, 

rates. 

S 

60. 


